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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416008">THE KEEP, Forever and a Day or The Ghost and Ms Targaryen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone'>clarasimone</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Game of Thrones (TV), The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (1947), The Ghost and Mrs. Muir (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Banter, Bear Island is in the Outer Hebrides, Boat Sex, By The Sea, Christmas, F/M, Feels, Female Friendship, Forever Near Forever Apart, Ghost!Jorah, Home, Humour, Lynesse mentionned, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Partnership, Passion, Passionate Sex, Past Relationship(s), Perfume, Pining, Romance, Sea Captain!Jorah, Slow Burn, Snow, Train Sex, True Love, Until it won't be, Writing, cottage life, or are they?, secret attic, secret garden, the ghost and mrs muir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:53:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>86,594</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416008</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarasimone/pseuds/clarasimone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1903, on the high cliffs of Bear Island, in the Outer Hebrides of Scotland. Daenerys Targaryen has left London and her in-laws to start her life anew, only accompanied by Gilly, her faithful aid. On the outskirts of Whitecliff, she has found her dream house: Keep Cottage, which she is sharing with its owner, Captain Jorah Mormont, a dashing and often scowling sea captain… who also happens to be a ghost.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gilly/Samwell Tarly, Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>286</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>294</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Daenerys finds a home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p><b>FYI, Chapters 1-6 are rated T, chapters 7-9 are rated M, chapter 10 onwards are rated E</b> </p><p>This tale aims to be a Jorleesi remake of THE GHOST AND MRS MUIR, the 1947 (but timeless) romantic film by Joseph L. Mankiewicz. He directed it from a screenplay by Philip Dunne, itself based on a 1945 novel by Josephine Leslie published under the pseudonym of R.A. Dick. It was later adapted for television.</p><p>Though meant as an hommage, my adaptation does not require for you to have seen the film or the tv series; it stands on its own.</p><p>I omit very few scenes and lines of dialogue from the film (it was part of the fun to discover how well it fitted Jorleesi lore) but I do sometimes gender-switch the repartee (also a joyous if subversive thing to do), and I challenge the turn of events in the film's final act. You'll discover why when ya get there!... More importantly, I often insert material original to me. This, in keeping with a meshing of Jorah and Daenerys, as we known them, with the characters from the film, which, in themselves, already have a lot in common with our loveys... or else, the idea of a remake would not have come to me! </p><p>My purple hearted thanks to Terisrog for her enthusiastic script-editing, Houseofthebear for the tender vote of confidence and also Throughtheblue and Chryssadirewolf for their precious feedback on the opening chapters.</p><p>I hope you enjoy this nostalgic and supernatural romance.... and know that, though the first chapters are rated Teen, passion will lead to Eros in the later weekly installments. Each new chapter will be published on Fridays.</p><p>p.s. If, by chance, readers from the film's fandom stray to my tale, I hope you will find it pleasurable, recognize your darlings and, who knows, maybe fall in love with Ser Jorah Mormont and Daenerys Targaryen from Game of Thrones, the tv series.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong> <em>  </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>THE KEEP, Forever and a Day</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong>CHAPTER 1</strong>
</p><p>There was a rumbling, the likes she had never heard before.</p><p>Not a growl, not yet—just a rumbling.</p><p>But it was so, so enticing.</p><p>There was a sigh, too, breathing through her. Close to her ear. Aching and longing so, while engulfing her, and rousing her. It had a steady rhythm, propelling her forward… and it had a pulse. Deep. Deep within her. Inviting her to let go, to shine forth, to embrace it all, and exult! She wanted to answer the call, chug-a-long to it. She was about to—she was!—a whimper leaving her lips. But when she did… the strident whistle of the train shook her up!</p><p>Daenerys Targaryen, heir to a defunct and ruined royal dynasty, woke up with a start on the Manchester outbound train to Mallaig, the steam engine strong and sturdy like the purring of dragons. Her eyes fluttered open with awe just as they were crossing the guardless border. Oh! The landscape before her was enough to steal one’s breath away, what with the soft hills and limitless skies over an undulating carpet of mauve heather. Such rugged beauty… But her breath had been stolen in her dream by a call rooted in sensuality, not contemplation.</p><p>In a warm daze, Daenerys felt her body give itself over to the rough and tender caprices of the roaring mechanical beast taking her North, and she welcomed it. Yet, blushing, she put her hand to her burning cheek and let out a shaky sigh. The dream she just had. It was… It was… she dared not put it into words.</p><p>Though her sisters-in-law always reprimanded her for her forward ways, Daenerys still had some sense of propriety. And this dream… this dream had none. Yet, if truth be told, in her heart of hearts, <em>well…</em> what she had experienced had been heavenly!</p><p>Laying her burning forehead on the cool window, Daenerys sighed and closed her eyes. The cold stung her skin, but it felt good. And when she looked up again, she understood, she just did, that the dream which seized her in slumber held the same promise of renewal as the landscape speeding out before her.</p><p>This was Scotland. This was freedom.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>“And now my mind is made up.”</p><p>“Oh, Dany. I never heard of such a thing.”</p><p>Before breaking her chains, Daenerys had been sitting at the dining room table, facing her two in-laws: Doreah, the sly one, scolding her presently, from her stiff governess get-up, and Irri, sniffling next to her and spoiling the lacy cuffs of her Victorian dress. Daenerys looked at them, mourning what could have been. Between them, that is, especially had her husband lived. But she was drowning, suffocating under the family rules and mores she needed to abide by as a widow to the Khal. Therefore, this would not do. Her trunks were all made up and waiting in the hall, and she had her kid gloves on. In a word, she was on her way out. For good. And she was now saying goodbye to her unlikely ladies-in-waiting, in her posh London townhouse.</p><p>No, let me rephrase: her dead husband’s townhouse, presently run by Drogo’s kin.</p><p>Daenerys had no claim here. This was made abundantly clear, in a myriad of subtle—and not so subtle—ways ever since becoming widowed and, most cruelly, since having miscarried. She was a guest in her own house. Tolerated. A bibelot. And soon to be put on the seller’s block to be betrothed to some relative of Drogo to keep the family estate intact. Because, yes, Daenerys had inherited quite a hefty share of her husband’s holdings in gold.</p><p><em>Dear Drogo, he had been sentimental near the end</em>, Daenerys couldn’t help but scoff silently. Cynicism didn’t suit her, she knew this, but it’s what she felt, more and more, and it was the reason why she wanted to leave. Before the darkness engulfed her. Before she’d drown in bile.</p><p>Daenerys knew she would never truly forgive Drogo for his earlier, brutal ways, nor her in-laws for their complicit attitude. And certainly never, ever, her own cupid brother for having thrown her at the first rich suitor that came their way, forcing her to marry too young. Truly, she had been but a child. But now she was a woman, and she knew that what lay ahead was up to her. If she stayed, her unhappiness would be <em>on her</em>. She would not abide any excuse in her mind; none would crawl there to lull her to sleep. If she did not run away, she would be sold again like a broodmare, to make more sons for the Dothrakis. Writing in her diary would not suffice. Taking refuge in the crying room—yes, they were called ‘crying rooms’ those small attic cubicles where posh wives would silently wail their unhappiness—this too would not be enough to salvage her mind. And the light would go out. And her soul would wither. …And she’d probably end up roasting her next husband!</p><p>
  <em>Well, no.</em>
</p><p>“Oh, Dany, Dany.”</p><p><em>Irri.</em> She could be so sweet, but Daenerys simply found her insufferable now.</p><p>“Please don’t make it more difficult,” Daenerys managed to say, as nicely as possible, yet tugging on her gloves, the gesture betraying her eagerness to leave.  “I know you’ve tried to be generous and kind… but it simply won’t work, my living here.”</p><p>“Are you serious, Dany? With poor Drogo barely cold in his grave.”</p><p>“Doreah, he’s been dead almost a year now.”</p><p>Once upon a time, she had been caring and full of light. But Drogo had killed that girl. Well, almost. How Daenerys could keep the irritation from her voice was beyond her, really, though the steely resolve in her tone gave her words a cold sheen. Her next sentence was shocking in its matter-of-fact logic and lucidity.</p><p>“I don’t see what Drogo’s got to do with this. I’m not leaving him, I’m leaving you.”</p><p>
  <em>Well!</em>
</p><p>“After all we’ve tried to do for her,” Irri cried to Doreah, as if Daenerys wasn’t even in the room. Taking a deep breath, the Targaryen heir tried one final time to make herself heard. Truly.</p><p>“You mustn’t think I’m not grateful. You’ve both been so very kind to me… but I’m not really a member of the family… except for marrying your brother, and now he’s gone. I have my own life to live, and you have yours, and they simply won’t mix.” <em>Daenerys</em>, she told herself, <em>speak with your heart.</em> “I’ve never had a life of my own. It’s been Drogo’s life and yours. Never my own.”</p><p>For a second, Daenerys thought she had reached the women sitting in front of her and then…</p><p>“I’m sure I don’t know how you’ll manage, Dany. Your inheritance will soon run out; you know this.”</p><p><em>Seven hells, enough.</em> “I assure you, Doreah, I can live quite cheaply with Gilly.”</p><p>“Do you mean you’re taking the cook?”</p><p>“And why not? She was with me before I came to live with you.”</p><p>“Of all the ungrateful—”</p><p>“Please, ladies. I’m sorry, but I’ve made up my mind.”</p><p>“But where, Dany, where can you go?” Irri’s voice was so pitiful, it softened Daenerys again.</p><p>“The seaside, I think. I’ve always wanted to live by the sea.” And, getting to her feet, she added: “Well, that’s all I have to say.”</p><p>“Oh, it’s a blooming revolution, that’s what.”</p><p><em>Ah! Finally! Something they could both agree on!</em> Yes, Daenerys was letting go of her shackles and turning her life around, a suffragette in her own right. When she rejoined Gilly, who had been listening in on the household’s final sparring from the kitchen, the two women held hands and smiled into each other eyes, tears of joy threatening to spill on the cook’s jolly cheeks.</p><p>“Come Gilly, that train won’t wait for us!” Daenerys whispered, laughter in her tone.</p><p>“Yes, Your Grace!”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Daenerys couldn’t rightfully say why she had chosen, as her refuge, one of the most remote islands of the Outer Hebrides. But there was just something about Bear Island that spoke to her when she saw it in the old Atlas she consulted in secret when planning her ‘Great Escape.’ It looked so brave facing the Atlantic! Yet, also like a land which knew it had to protect its own. On the waxed paper of the map she purchased, it was drawn like a half-closed fist, with a cosy harbour inside the hollow of its barely open palm. She knew the island would cradle her if she wished—Whitecliff, its seaport town, seemed quaint enough from the drawings she had seen—but it was its more rugged terrain that called to her. Not so much the interior forests but the foreboding cliffs all ‘round; the proud brow it showed the ocean! Daenerys wanted the island to challenge her. She wanted it to dare her to face whatever could come her way, whether it be winds, gales, thunderstorms, crashing waves, all these formidable tempests she craved after the sheltered, oppressive life she’d led in London. She wanted to <em>feel!</em></p><p>Therefore, she was grateful to Gilly when her faithful companion refrained from mocking her, or her romanticism, when she got seasick on the ferry taking them from island to island to island; the journey to Bear Island seemingly endless and pointlessly trying. But she had borne it all, without moaning, so proud and certainly resolute to not being scorned as a <em>mainlander</em> when they’d set foot on the isle.</p><p>“Isn’t Whitecliff beautiful, Gilly?” Daenerys had whispered, her eyes to the Charles Dickensian port town welcoming them, her hands holding on tight to the railing of the small tugboat they had boarded last. The one bringing mail and two unlikely passengers to Bear Island.</p><p>Gilly had eyed her mistress with sweet disbelief, but Daenerys was truly awed and excited as she gazed upon the soft greens and sparkling blues of the summery coastline. Though, if truth be told, her complexion was still too pale and her brow glistening with sweat. Gilly would make sure her Lady rested a moment, and replenished herself, before meeting the real estate agent waiting for her… while she took care of buying their first provisions.</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>“Are you Mr Baratheon?” Daenerys asked, after making the silver bell of the front office resonate brightly. She stood near the entrance of the quaint agency, situated on the busy thoroughfare of Main Street, looking distinguished as could be, in her Edwardian widow’s garb softened by a long white muslin scarf about her gracile throat—and with no trace, on her smile, of the hardships of her travels. Seeing his distinguished customer, Samwell Tarly quickly swallowed the bite he was chewing. It wasn’t quite his lunch hour yet, but a portly clerk needed sustenance between meals.</p><p>“Oh! Mr Baratheon passed on some years ago. May he rest in peace.”</p><p>“Mr Bolton?”</p><p>“Likewise.”</p><p>“Then you’re Mr Tarly.”</p><p>“Junior.”</p><p>“Of course,” Daenerys concluded, smiling once more and stepping closer to the young agent’s desk. “You answered my letter. Please eat.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>“I’m Ms Targaryen,” Daenerys offered, the thrill of trying out her chosen name written on her smile.</p><p>“Miss Targaryen…”</p><p>“Ms!” Daenerys corrected promptly. She wasn’t Khal Drogo’s wife anymore, she was more than his widow, and she would use this new stenographic abbreviation if she very well pleased! The 20<sup>th</sup> Century was, after all, three years old!</p><p>“<em>Ms </em>Targaryen, pardon me,” corrected Samwell Tarly while inviting his visitor to take a seat near him. “You were desirous of renting a house.”</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Well, I’ve selected several prospects suitable to a young lady… in bereaved circumstances,” Tarly explained, his voice, like his eyes, dropping slightly to signify his condolences. Opening a file, he ran down the particulars of his selections. “Highgarden Manor. Seaside villa. Three beds, two complete offices, company’s gas and water… modern drains, private garden…”</p><p>“I’m afraid that’s a little too expensive,” Daenerys stated quietly, after peeking with contained horror at the asking price on the printed sheet.</p><p>“Right.” Smiling shyly, and clearing his throat, Samwell flipped to another document.</p><p>“The Eyrie. First-class residential street, here in Whitecliff… four bed, one reception, sun parlour, offices… company’s gas and water, beautifully planted…"</p><p>While Samwell Tarly was reciting the Eyrie’s urban assets, Daenerys eyes wandered across his files to a half-hidden property sheet whose drawing showed a beautiful Victorian seaside gabled house.</p><p>“This one!” Daenerys exclaimed, pulling on the sheet and smiling broadly upon seeing the full artist rendition of the house. “Keep Cottage!”</p><p>“What was that, madam?” Tarly asked feebly while trying, for nought, to get Daenerys to relinquish the document.</p><p>“This house. Keep Cottage. It’s exactly the sort of place I’m looking for,” she said, brightly.</p><p>“Keep Cottage?” Tarly looked sincerely crestfallen. “Oh, no, no. That wouldn’t suit you at all.” And then, eager to see Daenerys forget about her finding, the young agent simply repeated what she already knew, but with a conviction bordering on desperation: “The Eyrie. First-class residential street… four bed—”</p><p>To no avail. Daenerys was still holding on to Keep’s Cottage and, noticing the price on the call sheet, she peeped: “That’s very little for a furnished house.”</p><p>“It’s a ridiculous price actually,” Samwell Tarly admitted, his voice a pitiful whimper.</p><p>“I suppose there’s something wrong,” Daenerys offered, her tone almost amused. “Is it the drains?”</p><p>Piqued, the young man reset his spectacles firmly on his nose before declaring: “When Baratheon, Bolton, &amp; Tarly put up a house for rent… you may be sure there is nothing wrong with the drains.”</p><p>“Then why shouldn’t it suit me?”</p><p>“My dear young lady, you must allow me to be the judge of that. Now, where were we? Oh, yes. The Eyrie. Beautifully planted, short walk from—"</p><p>It was no use being stubborn, Sam had met his match.</p><p>“But if I am going to live in the house, Mr Tarly… <em>I </em>should be the judge.”</p><p>“You’ll only waste your time.”</p><p>“But it’s <em>my </em>time,” Daenerys declared with calm finality, and with a smile that left no room for discussion. “I believe there’s another housing agency in Whitecliff. Perhaps they have Keep Cottage listed, too.”</p><p>“Very well, <em>Miz </em>Targaryen, if you insist.” A bit miffed, Samwell was gathering his papers when the doorbell chimed again. “Let me call you a horse-driven cab and…”</p><p>“Milady?”</p><p>“Oh! Gilly, you’re just in time!”</p><p>Seeing Daenerys’ companion, her maid possibly, so lovely and bestowed of such generous for—such a sweet demeanour, Samwell Tarly found himself instantly flustered and fumbling to set his papers straight. His voice catching, he nonetheless tried to appear suave.</p><p>“On second thought, I shall drive you to Keep Cottage myself. In my <em>motor-</em>car,” he added, his tone caught between trying to sound matter-of-fact while brimming with pride, an impossible mixture which ended up sounding like neither. Somehow though, it did communicate quite well how smitten he was. With Gilly. Daenerys had to smile at this: Bear Island men knew a good woman when they saw one.</p><p>“That’s very gallant of you, Mr Tarly.” And then, she added: “Gilly, you won’t mind sitting up in front, will you?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>The house had been lonely. Not him though, <em>no!</em></p><p>I mean, truly, he couldn’t be bothered.</p><p>But he had loved this house. Once. When he had it built <em>for her</em>. For Lynesse or, rather, the ideal of her. She who, in the end, had never even set foot in their cottage, his wedding present. It was so many years ago now, he was starting to forget—that he had asked for an all-white exterior, with a tower, and a master bedroom so ample it would have put to shame an admiral’s quarters, and… and a widow’s walk, so she could watch the ocean and long for his return. And he had wanted there to be windows, windows everywhere to let the light in and the sea breeze, and the ocean’s song.</p><p>He had been such a fool.</p><p>He had even dabbled in gardening, to plant the rose bushes himself. A sea captain, kneeling down with his hands in the dirt. <em>Such a fool.</em> But the roses had bloomed, to torture him—pristine white, like her complexion and beautiful creamy blond hair; and there were pink ones too, like her lips.</p><p>After a few years, after time had stopped to make sense, he had ceased to care for them. And he had taken to scaring visitors away.</p><p>It was the strangest thing, being dead. Barely sensing his body and yet being able to affect the elements and nature. Of course, he could move things around. Everyone knew ghosts were capable of this mischief, and he certainly liked to abuse of this parlour trick. Because what else was there to do anyway? And, frankly, he didn’t suffer fools. But the rest was a mystery. His existence, for lack of a better word, was a mystery. What was the point of it? If he had died at sea, his soul would roam the Seven Seas, not the Seven Hells. He’d be free now instead of being stuck in Keep Cottage, waiting. And waiting for what? Waiting for her?!</p><p>
  <em>Oh! blast it all, that’s exactly what he was doing, wasn’t it? </em>
</p><p>He was waiting for her. And she was never going to come.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>By no means was the road to Keep Cottage an even one. Sitting at the back of Mr Tarly’s slick new mechanical contraption, a roofless affair, Daenerys found herself bumping about, in a slightly elevated position, her back to her trunks, but with a perfect view of the seashore. Below her, Gilly and their driver were chatting away, having to scream really, above the din of the wind and the coughing noise of the motor, but she wasn’t paying attention to them. It was the sound of the crashing waves she was hearing. When they veered onto the last stretch of road, skirting the cliff from the lighthouse, Daenerys—the princess who would never be Queen—suddenly felt on top of the World and extended her arms wide, smiling. For a few seconds, she was flying with the gulls underneath a perfect blue canopy and over the snow-white sands setting off the sparkling turquoise of the sea. How magical the northern waters around Bear Island! They were freezing cold, Daenerys knew this, but they looked tropical. Would she dare swim in them?</p><p>And then looking left, she saw it: Keep cottage. And her heart skipped a beat… What an astonishing vision, the Queen Ann architecture more stunning in person than on the drawing she had seen! Yes, this was her dream house, so elegant on the bluff rising high above the ocean! It had to be the most beautiful in the world… Her brother would have ridiculed her had he heard her speak from the heart like this, but she didn’t let his memory mar the new one she was making. <em>The first time I laid eyes on you…</em></p><p>On closer inspection, as they neared the house, Daenerys did see that it was in slight disrepair. Gilly even threw her a knowing look, to which she had to answer with a playful shrug. Oh! She would take good care of her Keep. <em>Hers to keep</em>: she liked the sound of that.</p><p>She was just about to step out of the car when Mr Tarly unexpectedly roared up the engine again. And where did he think he was taking them?</p><p>“Highgarden Manor. Now that you’ve seen Keep Cottage,” Samwell said, a bit sheepishly. “It’s only a short drive away, and I’m sure I could lower the rental price.”</p><p>“But I want to see the inside!” No one, but no one was going to thwart the <em>rendez-vous</em> which Daenerys felt she had with this house.</p><p>“The inside? Of Keep Cottage?” Sam repeated, a bit aghast.</p><p>“Of course. What on earth’s the matter?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh my!</em>
</p><p>Samwell’s eyes darting from Gilly to Daenerys, and back again, he swallowed hard and, finding his pride, if not his courage, he stepped out to help Daenerys down from her perch.</p><p>“Very well. If you insist.”</p><p>Answering the agent with a quizzical frown, Daenerys simply walked past him, letting him fawn over Gilly.</p><p>Samwell had stopped his motorcar behind the tall shrubs separating the road from the front yard of the estate, and Daenerys found herself having to walk along the shrubbery, her perspective partially obstructed. How strange really to find the sinuous and prickly branches constantly hiding the Keep from her. It was as if the house was protecting itself or, at the very least, playing hide and seek with her. When she finally reached the arbour gate, she found it closed. She tried the latch but to no avail, it seemed stuck. Daenerys had to call to Tarly for him to wrestle with the gate and open it, which he did, after running to her, most nervously. Stepping in front, he opened the way, walking up the narrow path leading to the front veranda, and Daenerys heard him disparage this and that, but from afar. Like Gilly’s voice, listing off practicalities and other domestic concerns. And then worrying about the rapidly forming clouds.</p><p>But were they blind? Could they not <em>see </em>Keep Cottage?</p><p>Slowing her gait, Daenerys let some distance separate her from her companions until she came to a complete halt, facing the white beauty before her. The wind was indeed picking up and billowing her black dress about her, but she stood her ground, unaffected. She seemed like a regal statue, suddenly, the type adorning the vast lawn of rich manors, its grace and patience limitless. A new gust of wind rushed her and threatened to blow her wide-brimmed hat from her head. She held it in place with one hand, pushing the white muslin ribbons flying about her face, as they blocked her view. She couldn’t bear breaking eye contact with her grandiose hostess; but as Gilly was calling to her from the porch, to please hurry because the rain was coming, Daenerys started to walk again.</p><p>Her eyes wandered for a second about her, to the overgrown garden, its forlorn rose bushes struggling to survive—and her heart constricted. <em>Plop plop plop</em>, big fat raindrops began to drop on the petals, and then on the gravel under her feet, a pathway not made of vulgar pebbles but of crushed seashells, trying to shimmer, like the fountain’s little mermaid made of nacre, but missing an arm, surely the victim of young vandals. Such broken beauty about her!</p><p>Daenerys couldn’t help but feel a swell of emotion rising and, approaching the house, never stopping her gait, all sounds faded away but for the musical symphony of the wind, tugging at her heart, and she had this most surprising gesture: she unpinned her hat from her fair silver hair and lifted her face to the Keep, daring it not to love her back.</p><p>Just then, the House saw her too.</p><p>There was a second of uncertainty and…</p><p>And though thunder could have—should have—clapped, and lighting struck, and all hell broken loose, the wind yielded, and the sun shone, its rays striking the beautiful bow-window of the gracious upper floor! All at once, the light reflecting there shone back inside Daenerys’ violet eyes, making them sparkle, like her smile. She and the House were bathed in faerie light.</p><p>
  <em>Was this what it felt like to come home?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p>
  <em>This was not really happening, was it?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He knew it wasn’t her. It couldn’t be. And yet… She looked so much like ‘her’. Except for the violet eyes. Lynesse’s had been green. But wasn’t there something more that set the stranger apart? Such graceful assurance in her gait, such openness in her gaze, and the way she had admired the house… He dared not continue. He dared not hope.</em>
</p><p>  </p><p>While the ghost was—almost—regretting his uncharacteristic welcoming behaviour, Daenerys stood in the foyer. She was perfectly poised in the centre of the entrance hall, with sunbeam dust gaily twirling about her. She had disrupted the slumber of the House, and looked all the more victorious for it, one hand on the pommel of the parasol she was leaning on. Daenerys was gazing about her, entranced at what she was beholding, but never more than the Ghost himself.</p><p>The House held its breath while the light moved about Daenerys, brightening the Hall and casting her in more wondrous luminescence. Truly, the Ghost couldn’t help himself; making the interior just a bit more glamorous than it was in reality. Because <em>she</em> had come.</p><p>Yet, Gilly broke the eerie charm with her usual no-nonsense.            </p><p>“Terribly dusty.”</p><p>And Samwell agreed: “The house has been empty for nearly four years.”</p><p>Gilly dared a side look towards her Mistress but, from her enchanted expression, knew she’d get nothing sensible out of her. Therefore, she turned her attention back to their charming solicitor. He was smiling at her, presently, and Gilly felt her cheeks redden.</p><p>“Office is back there,” he explained. “Living on the right. Dining off the living.”</p><p>Gilly was about to follow Samwell towards the domestics’ quarters when Daenerys crossed her path, as if moved by intuition, to open the double doors to the living room.</p><p>“Oh!” she exclaimed, when her eyes fell on the only spark of brightness inside, in the recesses of the room: a rugged visage with intense blue eyes! For a second, Daenerys thought she was seeing a real live man. A trick of the light because…</p><p>“Of course. It’s a painting. I thought for a moment…”</p><p>
  <em>I thought for a moment I was seeing the most astonishing man I had ever seen. </em>
</p><p><em>I thought for a moment I was back in that dream which ran through me as we crossed over into Scotland and</em>—</p><p>
  <em>I thought for a moment that… I was being seen. Finally! </em>
</p><p>Daenerys’ thoughts were racing, through her mind and through her veins. What an amazing portrait! Samwell was opening the shutters to let the daylight in, spiriting the shadows away, but she was still transfixed by the handsome, bearded man in unadorned naval garb presently peering down on her.</p><p>“Who is it?”</p><p>“The, uh, former owner, a Captain Jorah Mormont. A sea captain.”</p><p>“<em>Captain Jorah Mormont</em>,” Daenerys murmured, forgetting her companions.</p><p>Gilly, running her finger along the dusty piano, offered her two-cents: “That explains the scheme of decoration, doesn’t it?” To which Samwell didn’t mind responding, in a conspiratorial tone, and with his own hand following Gilly’s: “Which is in frightful taste.”</p><p>Oh! Samwell should not have dared! The piano’s cover fell shut over his fingers, almost biting them off. The out-of-tune note which resounded drowned Sam and Gilly’s frightened gasp, but snapped Daenerys out of her trance. Just in time, really, for her to spring to the House’s defence.</p><p>“Oh, I don’t agree with you. It’s really a lovely room… and most of the furniture will do as it is.”</p><p>And, indeed, it <em>was</em> a beautiful house! Its white classical interior offset by nautical motifs made one feel cosy, while reminding their occupants that, just outside, the ocean beckoned! Daenerys also loved how so many of the walls were, in fact, built-in shelves lined with books. She couldn’t wait to peruse them!</p><p>“Ms Targaryen, I must beg of you not to be so precipitous,” Samwell said, breaking Daenerys reverie, “I assure you this house will not suit you at all.”</p><p>“Oh, but it does. It suits me perfectly,” Daenerys chirped.</p><p>
  <em>‘Precious’… The Ghost could not help whisper.</em>
</p><p>“Did you say something, Mr Tarly?”</p><p>“No, I did not.”</p><p>“Well, I think I’d better see the rest of it.”</p><p>“As you wish, Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>Looking at Daenerys leave the room, Captain Jorah Mormont felt the cold come back inside the parlour. And so, he simply had to follow her. Already damning himself.</p><p>
  <em>Why had he let her in? He’d suffer so. And, worse, what if… he’d make her suffer too?</em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p>“What on earth?” Gilly exclaimed, upon seeing the remains of a half-eaten repast on the kitchen table.</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“That table, Mr Tarly. I thought you said no one had been here.”</p><p>“I said nothing of the sort, Miss Gilly!”</p><p>While Samwell and Gilly were having their first<em>—lovers?—spat, Daenerys’ attention was drawn to the windowsill. Usually, kitchen offices were a dark, gloomy affair, unless a fire was roaring in the cooking hearth, but this one had a cheery décor with generous surfaces to prepare belly-warming food, and homemade bread, and all sorts of jolly sweets. Brass pots and pans that would soon shine again hung from the low ceiling and, most of all, a lovely set of chequered windows let the sunlight in. Daenerys walked to them and sighed upon seeing the row of small potted herbs. Once, they had surely been green and fragrant, but they were dry now, almost mummified. How sad. And yet… and yet, with the sun shining on them…</em></p><p>“I said the house had been empty,” Daenerys heard Samwell explain to Gilly. “It has. A charwoman was here last week.”</p><p>“Well, she must have left in a frightful hurry.”</p><p>“That she did,” Samwell answered, trying to convey to Gilly that, truly, something was terribly <em>wrong</em> with the house.</p><p>“Did she tell you why?” Daenerys interjected, turning from the windows to her companions.</p><p>“She told me nothing, Ms Targaryen. She returned the key to the office whilst I was out, and resigned, at once.”</p><p>“Oh.” Daenerys and Gilly exchanged looks.</p><p>“Ms Targaryen, I—”</p><p>“I know, it won’t suit me,” Daenerys added, before Tarly did, turning once more her face to the sunbeams streaming in. Just then, she saw that one of the potted plants was green and blooming tiny flowers. Had she missed it before? She blinked and smiled, bending to the plant, and whispered to it, mesmerized: “But it does.”</p><p>Samwell Tarly had to sigh when Daenerys next walked to him declaring she wanted to see the second floor. And the third. And all of it, really!</p><p>“The upstairs?”</p><p>“Why, yes, Mr Tarly. Shall we start with the master bedroom?”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>As the trio was leaving the kitchen, nobody was left to see every potted herb turn green on the windowsill. Except the House, of course; and it smiled.</p><p>*</p><p>The first thing Daenerys saw was this bright, ample—surprisingly feminine in its curbed form—and stunningly theatrical bow-window under which had been built a raised platform. Two steps up, and one reached a shiny brass telescope turned, as it should be, towards the blue, blue sea.</p><p>Was Samwell Tarly still speaking? Once more, Daenerys was not hearing him because, nothing, nothing could be as eloquent as what this room was telling her. For one thing, it was spotless, unlike the dusty lower floor. It felt lived in. It even smelled vaguely of vanilla… pipe tobacco! And the arrangement of the furniture, oh! just perfect! There was a writing desk next to a wide and elegant fireplace, the secretary made of golden cherry wood, so luscious next to the all-white mantlepiece. And in front of the hearth, an armchair, where she could already imagine herself reading, late at night. And then, here and there, more brass trinkets and naval tools pleasantly catching one’s attention: a sextant, a compass, sailors’ knots… and a miniature ship. The captain’s surely. But that telescope and the light pooling in! As in a dream, Daenerys found herself inside the half-circle of the bow-window, with her violet iris peering through the lens. Seeing the waves twinkle inside the oculus, she felt like she had done this a thousand times. She didn’t even have to change the focus on the eyepiece. Had the telescope been waiting for her?</p><p>“He liked to watch the ships,” Daenerys’ melodious voice declared softly; interrupting a hush-hushed conversation between Gilly and Mr Tarly.</p><p>“Begging your pardon?”</p><p>“The captain, Mr Tarly. He liked to survey the ocean,” Daenerys smiled wistfully. “And he still does, it seems,” she added, while pointing to a narrow glass door, made to espouse the curved windows. It was presently opened, in front of the telescope.</p><p>Flustered and strangely irritated, Samwell nervously approached the glass panel to close it shut.</p><p>“The wind, surely, milady,” ventured Gilly who, clearly, was stuck between her allegiance to Daenerys and her growing fondness for Samwell. Smiling again, Daenerys nodded her acquiescence and turning to her friend, she finally noticed… the bed.</p><p>Of course, there would have been a bed in this room. It was, after all, the <em>master bedroom</em>. But… Gods! This bed, this bed was a work of art. Massive, canopied, hand-carved and adorned with a midnight blue velvet bedcover under fluffy pillows made of white linen, so finely embroidered. And those high mattresses! There was a short ladder to climb onto them! Oh! This bed had surely been built for a giant, unless… Unless it was built to be shared?</p><p>The thought made Daenerys blush. Why had she not realized that Captain Mormont had been married? Did she want him for herself? <em>What a strange thought.</em> Did she want to be the first woman to have graced this amazing house? Oh! She had misread Keep Cottage. She had not suspected its untold tale. This bed had been built for endless nights and lingering mornings. And what had happened to its lovers?</p><p>“Mr Tarly, how did Captain Mormont die?”</p><p>
  <em>DIE?!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys swung round, hearing the booming voice.</p><p>“Mr Tarly, really!”</p><p>But the agent was not the one who had shouted. He was paralyzed with fear!</p><p>“D-Did you hear the thunder Miss Gilly? It came…” he finally heaved.</p><p>“… from inside the house?!” the cook answered, looking at Samwell grab her hand to flee from the room, while Daenerys just looked bewildered. It hadn’t been the thunder; it had been a voice!</p><p>“Gilly!”</p><p>Feeling herself caught between fright and exhilaration, Daenerys had no choice but to follow her companions, an otherworldly baritone laughter flying down the central staircase after them.</p><p>Just as Daenerys was reaching the bottom of the stairs, her long muslin scarf caught on the brass bauble adorning the ramp. She had to turn around to dislodge it and… for one glorious moment, on the staircase, leaning down towards her, Daenerys thought she saw a figure through the sunbeams rearranging themselves before her very eyes! A manly figure with its arm extended towards her—no, impossible… yet she saw it, and sensed a rush of desperation, in the peeked gesture… and this, in turn, made her heart go aflutter. Because, of course, the figure had to be that of the Captain!</p><p>And, in that solitary still second, as her gesture was still undecided, Daenerys knew she was glimpsing into the extraordinary, the marvellous… and the forbidden. The house was trying to get her to stay! And she only turned to leave because Gilly’s voice was calling to her, and she could not abandon her.</p><p>Therefore, no, it wasn’t fear she had felt, when the Captain’s laughter had resounded; it was indeed exhilaration!</p><p>When Daenerys rejoined her companions outside, she was out of breath, her heart pounding, and she watched, crestfallen, Samwell Tarly quickly lock the front door. His voice was shaking when he cried out:</p><p>“I didn’t want to show it to you… but, oh, no, no, you had to see it.”</p><p>Briefly squeezing Gilly’s hand to reassure her, and herself in the process, Daenerys lifted her eyes to the bow-window and, taking a deep breath, she couldn’t help showing her ravishment when next she spoke, her decision made.</p><p>“Haunted. How <em>perfectly</em> fascinating.”</p><p>“Fascinating?” both exclaimed Gilly and Samwell Tarly.</p><p><em>Yes, perfectly fascinating,</em> echoed the Ghost as <em>he</em> admired Daenerys.</p><p>“Ms Targaryen, really! I suppose it’s fascinating that this house is giving me nightmares. Nightmares!” Samwell declared, indignant, with a side glance to Gilly, to make sure she didn’t think him cowardly. “Four times, I’ve rented it and four times the tenants have left after the very first night. I never want to see this house again!” Trying to calm his voice, Tarly pulled on his overcoat and straightened his ascot tie while stepping closer to Daenerys and Gilly.</p><p>“I wish Captain Mormont had lived to be a hundred. I wish he’d never been born.”</p><p>“I’m terribly sorry, Mr Tarly.” And Daenerys was indeed sad to see their solicitor in such a discombobulated state, though she was now taking a few steps back, to better look at the house again.</p><p>“Well, at least you both know now why it won’t suit you,” Sam declared.</p><p>“Yes, I—I suppose so,” whispered Gilly, turning from Samwell to Daenerys. “Do you agree, Milady?”</p><p>Daenerys had reached the sorry rose bushes, her eye falling on one astonishing violet-coloured bud proudly calling to her, the only one so-coloured amongst the flowers. She couldn’t stop her hand from brushing the creamy petals.</p><p>“Why does he haunt?” she seemed to ask the flower, her voice but a breath. And then louder, turning to her companions. “Was he murdered?”</p><p>“No, he committed suicide.”</p><p>“Oh!” <em>O Captain…</em> “I wonder why.”</p><p>“To save someone the trouble of assassinating him, no doubt.”</p><p>Thunder boomed on Tarly’s sardonic comment, making him jump and almost run down the pathway towards the road, Gilly in tow, under a perfectly blue sky. Daenerys bit her lip as they passed her by, to hide her sudden and inappropriate amusement. This time, she did hear thunder.</p><p>“Come. We’ll go to Highgarden Manor,” Samwell instructed Daenerys. But he had to stop when he sensed she wasn’t following him. “Ms Targaryen?”</p><p>Daenerys was posing again, in the middle of the pathway, her figure so complementary to the Queen Ann marvel that was Keep Cottage. She eyed the house once more and then her companions. Seeing her mistress’ expression, Gilly had to sigh briefly and shake her head, like one does gazing at their favourite child, the one always up to mischief, the one who will never, ever, truly bow to conventions.</p><p>“Ms Targaryen,” Samwell insisted, “if you please.”</p><p>“You’ll probably think it very silly of me, Mr Tarly… but I’ve decided to take Keep Cottage after all.”</p><p>The young agent couldn’t help looking dumbstruck.</p><p>“In my opinion, you are the most obstinate young woman I have ever met.”</p><p>“Why thank you, Mr Tarly,” Daenerys susurrated. “I’ve always wanted to be considered obstinate.”</p><p>Seeing Gilly try to hide a smile, Daenerys knew she had her friend’s blessing.</p><p>“Very well, Ms Targaryen,” Samwell relinquished, exhausted, “on the understanding that I disclaim all responsibility of what may happen… though, of course,” he corrected himself, eyeing Gilly, “your well-being will forever be a concern of mine… you shall have Keep Cottage.”</p><p>Daenerys smiled again; the most beautiful smile Gilly had ever seen on her Lady’s features. She then saw her turn once more towards the house, <em>her </em>house, but Gilly didn’t hear the words Daenerys whispered to the sun sparkles dancing on the upper bow-window.</p><p>“What do you pray for Captain Jorah? The same as I?”</p><p>And all the rose bushes bloomed violet behind the new mistress of Keep Cottage as she walked from the garden, with a spring in her gait, to fetch her belongings.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Meeting Captain Jorah Mormont</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Having moved into The Keep, her dream house, Ms Daenerys Targaryen must negotiate with her landlord the terms of his... haunting contract.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>  </strong>
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</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>The Ghost and Ms Targaryen or THE KEEP, Forever and a Day</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>CHAPTER 2 </strong>
</p><p>“Don’t you dare come in my kitchen again with your muddy feet!”</p><p>Gilly was pushing her mistress into the master bedroom and Daenerys was mimicking extreme annoyance. Clearly, she had been roaming the cliffs, dressed in an inventive mixture of feminine grace and boyish practicality—wearing pants, no less, with a blue vest over a bouffant shirt and… she was rather filthy.</p><p>“Landlubber,” Daenerys snickered at her friend, while letting her tug on the outer garments weighing her down. “And why wouldn’t I roam the cliffs as a reward for cleaning the <em>entire</em> first floor?”</p><p>Gilly was unimpressed: “You mean, after <em>I </em>cleaned the entire first floor while you gazed at that portrait of Captain Mormont.”</p><p>“Ah! I most certainly did not gaze all-morning-long at that <em>very handsome</em> sea captain portrait,” Daenerys laughed while Gilly pushed her in the armchair, the one facing the fireplace, before kneeling down, to pull on her socks.</p><p>“Well, Milady, we certainly did good on our first day!” Gilly conceded. “Nothing like soap and water to make everything shipshape in Bear Island fashion…”</p><p>“What did you say, Gilly?”</p><p>“Why, I said—What did I say?”</p><p>“Shipshape in Bear Island fashion,” Daenerys repeated, amazed. “I’ve never heard you use that expression before.”</p><p>“Huh. Must have been the sea air… Come, hand me your scarf, Your Grace!”</p><p>“Oh Gilly, I wish you wouldn’t call me that anymore,” Daenerys whispered, pulling Gilly’s chin to her and affectionately rubbing her nose on hers. “I shall never reign, you know.”</p><p>Laughing and pulling back, Gilly insisted: “And the World shall forever be deprived of this joy, My Lady. Now, I command you, Ms Targaryen-with-no-more-titles, to get a bit of shut-eye before tea.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> tired,” Daenerys had to admit, “I think I will take a little rest.”</p><p>Gilly smiled into her mistress’ eyes and then, grabbing a lovely throw, snuggled Daenerys inside its soft wool. “Begging your pardon, <em>Your Highness</em>. There. This will keep you nice and warm.”</p><p>“Thanks, Gilly, you’re an angel.”</p><p>“Ha! Ain’t noticed any wings sproutin’ lately.”</p><p>So many years between them, and no need to elaborate; just tender smiles shared in secret. Gilly’s allegiance was indisputable, and Daenerys knew she had a friend for life. Sighing in delight, she reclined inside the armchair, while Gilly went to close the bow window’s door, to keep the chill out, adding: “I’ll call you in plenty of time for tea.”</p><p>Just as her companion was leaving the room, Daenerys noticed a pile of books on the small round table next to her. There were three in total. Beautiful, and bound in leather; navy blue, carmine red and autumn brown: <em>Songs and Legends From Bear Island</em>, one of them said. Oh!… Daenerys moved to call after Gilly, to question her but, too late. She took the books into her hands, set them on her lap, and caressed them. She then held the first one up to her nose, to smell its cover and vellum, and then, smiling, she opened it to read a few lines… until her eyes fluttered closed.</p><p><em>Ding-Ding, Ding-Ding</em> the clock on the mantlepiece chimed. <em>Ding-Ding, Ding-Ding… </em>The light changed about the room; the wind pushed the bow window door opened and… there was a sigh. And a shadow, swooping down on Daenerys as she was lost to slumber.</p><p>Breathing softly, Captain Jorah Mormont was contemplating, at last, the woman who had not been afraid of him, and had claimed Keep Cottage for herself… offering much of her soul in return. To him. They had not seen it, the others—Samwell Tarly and even Gilly—but he had. And how wondrous. To find such a precious, unique individual who instinctively longed for home and felt she had found it here. Someone who may have looked like his lost love… but who was so unlike her.</p><p><em>Oh, could you not have materialized a few years ago? </em>Because now…</p><p>Jorah’s eyes almost misted over, perusing Daenerys Targaryen’s features, memorizing every line. He wished… He wished—Oh, it was too late for him to wish! And how ridiculous for him to feel so strongly so fast for someone he was just now discovering! Royalty, no less? But this too, tugged at his heart. A princess fallen from grace, a princess with no wish for a crown, but who walked his cliffs with an Empress’ gait and a smile to overshadow the beam of the lighthouse. She was a free spirit, and she was so, so much <em>alive</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! Was this a terrible, terrible mistake?</em>
</p><p>The clock chimed again, and the shadow dissipated. Yet, when Daenerys opened her eyes, she was sure she’d see…</p><p>“Oh, it’s you, Gilly!”</p><p>“I crept up, milady, not wanting to wake you in case you were still asleep.” <em>Why did her mistress look slightly disappointed? </em>“Tea’s all ready,” Gilly added, to comfort Daenerys. “I’ve got a nice bit of fresh fish for you, too.”</p><p>Daenerys smiled, a bit distracted, while looking at her companion put away some of her things, from inside her travelling trunks. “Gilly,” she whispered finally, “I had such a curious dream.”</p><p>“A dream, Your Grace?”</p><p>“Yes, the… the Captain…”</p><p>“The Captain? Captain Mormont?”</p><p>Hearing Gilly call out her phantasm, Daenerys hushed the words she meant to say. Her romantic imagination was acting up again. She blushed a bit, seeing her friend waiting for her to finish.</p><p>Of course, she wouldn’t now.</p><p>“I’ll be down presently, Gilly. And would you mind closing the window? I’m rather cold.”</p><p>“Of course!” the cook exclaimed, moving to the bow window. “But I—didn’t I? Before?”</p><p>Yes, she had. Closed the glass door. But Daenerys was not about to tell Gilly she thought the ghost had reopened it! Still, just before her friend left the room, Daenerys called after her. “And thank you for the books!”</p><p>Gilly blinked, slightly confused but, not wanting to alarm her mistress, she sputtered a white lie: “Oh! There are so many lying around. Glad you like them, Milady.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>While Gilly was putting away the tea tray, under the brass cookware shining anew, Daenerys was admiring the fine herbs on the windowsill, so green and generous now, in their little pots. Their fresh smell added savoury to the lingering sweetness in the air. Gilly had baked scones, their favourite with tea.</p><p>“I put hot water bottles on the kitchen table, ma’am… to warm your bed. And the kettle’s on the stove.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you, Gilly. What would I do without you?”</p><p>“Oh! A great many things. Mistakes and wonders, miracles and mishaps, milady. The difference being, I would not be there to see you spread your wings.”</p><p>“Gilly! What a poet you are!” Daenerys exclaimed, laughter illuminating her features.</p><p>“Good night, Daenerys Targaryen, First of Her Name, Breaker of her chains and Protector of Keep Cottage.”</p><p>“Good night,” Daenerys smirked to her companion.</p><p>Once alone in the homey kitchen, thunder sounded from afar. Cocking her ear, Daenerys wondered if… No, this time, it was an actual storm coming their way. But, as she blew out the candles, the gas lights gave out too, leaving her in darkness! And then a lightning bolt lit the whole kitchen, just as the rain and wind forced the windows open. Shaken, Daenerys quickly closed them and then stood in the dark, trembling. The storm had reached them too quickly.</p><p>Lightning struck again, casting the kitchen in ominous light and—</p><p>“I know you’re here,” Daenerys said to the silence and darkness falling again, all around, willing her voice to sound even. “I say, I know you’re here.”</p><p>This was ridiculous! The ghost wasn’t there, and Daenerys was speaking to herself. She had half a mind to call Gilly back down to the kitchen.</p><p>But Gilly was not the person she was hoping for.</p><p>“Now, if the demonstration is over,” she called out louder, “I’ll thank you not to interfere while I boil some water for my hot water bottles. Also, I say,” she added, a bit miffed, “if you were a gentleman, you’d restore the lights.”</p><p>
  <em>Light the candle. </em>
</p><p>That voice!</p><p>Daenerys turned around, peering through the darkness.</p><p>
  <em>Go ahead, light it.</em>
</p><p>That baritone voice!</p><p>“How can I,” Daenerys exclaimed with bravado but shaking like a leaf, “when you keep blowing out the match?”</p><p>“Well, shall I do it for you… Your Grace?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh! that tone in his voice! Somewhere between chivalrous and mocking. How maddening. And, it was so close now. She heard the Ghost the way she would have Gilly. </em>
</p><p>“Well?” he challenged her further.</p><p>Piqued, Daenerys ran her hand down her tea-time dress, to give herself some countenance, and then she did manage to light the candle.</p><p>When Captain Mormont saw her features again, and her posture, so regal and proud, containing her fear… he thought himself a cad for scaring her. But he couldn’t relinquish, this would never work, her being here. Yes, he had done everything, <em>everything </em>in his power to lure her and, though it had worked, it was a terrible, terrible mistake—it was! Therefore, he tried his damnedest to look stern and foreboding when, at last, she turned the candlelight his way, and <em>saw him</em>.</p><p>Daenerys started but Captain Jorah Mormont’s ruse did not work. Once she settled her breath and truly looked at her host, he only appeared noble to her eyes. And the way… the way he looked at her! It made her heart race.</p><p>“You’ll—You’ll forgive me if I take a moment to get accustomed to you,” she whispered, her voice still shaking a bit while she turned her face from his form because, after all, though she wished it wasn’t so, the man before her was a ghost, was he not?</p><p><em>It was for the best, she, fearing him, </em>the Ghost thought.<em> Avert your eyes. Do not look again upon me!</em></p><p>But Daenerys did, turn towards him, in one graceful swoop, and she looked straight at him—across time and bridging the worlds between them.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! blast it all, why?… Why did she have to be so excruciatingly beautiful and brave?</em>
</p><p>“You’re Captain Jorah Mormont,” he heard her say.</p><p>“Aye,” he answered, tightening his jaw.</p><p>Daenerys could barely breathe. Nothing, <em>nothing</em> had prepared her for such an encounter. He was so tall and dashing, with soft golden waves in his hair and salt and bronze streaks in his beard; a golden figure so unlike her late husband who had had the physique of a dark brute. And Captain Mormont looked nothing like a ghost, not that she was an expert on the subject but, for one thing, she could not see through him, quite the reverse! If she reached out to touch him, touch the dark wool of his close-fitted uniform, she was sure she’d find a solid mass there, a frame made to protect, not scare away, and she would feel his heart beat. She… <em>Oh hush Daenerys, did ghosts have a heart?…</em> <em>Yes,</em> this one did, she was sure of it, or there wouldn’t be such sadness about him. And his eyes, a sparkling blue, would not be so full of feelings—how could he be a ghost?</p><p>“I’m sorry I was rude,” Daenerys whispered. “You see, though I sensed your presence, I dared not think you were truly there, or I wouldn’t have insulted you. It must have been embarrassing to you.”</p><p>“In what way?”</p><p>“Because of the way you died,” Daenerys breathed painfully. “Because you committed suicide.”</p><p>“What makes you think I committed suicide?” His voice was guarded.</p><p>“Mr Tarly said—"</p><p>“Tarly’s a fool. They’re all fools.”</p><p>How upset Captain Mormont was suddenly! Shaken, Daenerys followed him with her glance as he scowled about the kitchen, casting an ominous shadow on the wall. “Not that it’s any of your business but I went to sleep in front of the confounded gas heater in my room… and I must have kicked the gas on with my foot in my sleep. It was a stormy night like this with half a gale blowing from the south-southwest into my windows… so I shut them as any sensible man would. Wouldn’t you?”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose so.” <em>And your wife, Captain, was she not with you?…</em></p><p>“Then the coroner’s jury brought in a suicide because my blasted charwoman testified I always slept with my windows open. How the devil should she know how I slept?”</p><p>
  <em>Charwoman. Charwoman? But not his wife? Had he not been married? He hadn’t? Oh!</em>
</p><p>“Oh, I’m so glad.”</p><p>“Do you have a strange sense of humour, madam?”</p><p>“I mean,” Daenerys was stuttering now, and she cast down her eyes. She couldn’t very well blurt out she had been jealous of his wife, his presumed wife, the Lady for whom he had, maybe, carved the amazing bed in… “I mean, dear Captain Mormont, I’m glad you didn’t commit suicide… but if you didn’t, why do you haunt?”</p><p>At that, Daenerys dared raise her eyes once more to the ghost.</p><p>“Because…”</p><p><em>Because I had to wait for you. </em>He almost said it.<em> Seven hells, Jorah Mormont, you fool…</em></p><p>“Because I have plans for my house which don’t include a pack of strangers barging in and making themselves at home.”</p><p>Daenerys winced at Jorah’s tone, but two could spar!</p><p>“Then, Captain, let me inform you that you went about it all wrong… to frighten me away, that is.”</p><p><em>Of course, he had.</em>  “Well, madam,” he tried to lie, “I’d barely started.”</p><p>“I think…” Daenerys’ voice caught, and she had to start again, bravely scolding Jorah Mormont. “I think it’s very mean of you, frightening people… childish, too.”</p><p>A few seconds went by before the Captain spoke again, his eyes mesmerizing his prey, his Lady, his downfall.</p><p>“In your case,” Jorah whispered, coming close to her, “I’m prepared to admit I charted the course with regret.”</p><p>She couldn’t breathe anymore, feeling the Captain subtly bend towards her. Was it to smell her scent? <strike></strike></p><p>“Were you in my room this afternoon, Captain?!” Daenerys demanded.</p><p>“My room, madam.”</p><p>“I thought I’d dreamed it,” she murmured and, with more assurance: “Did you leave me those books and open the window?”</p><p>“Madam, the books are meant to educate you—”</p><p>“Educate me?!”</p><p>“—in our Bear Island ways, yes! Unless you wish to remain a mainlander all your life?”</p><p>Daenerys knew she should feel insulted, and maybe she would, in a second, but she couldn’t help but think her host was playacting. Playing the part of ‘<em>the ghost’</em>… but why exactly? Captain Mormont might once have been truly convincing as a brooding, insufferable man but, right now, he wasn’t. Not to her. Not at all. She watched him falter.</p><p>“And… and I opened the window because I didn’t want another accident with the blasted gas. Women are…” he tried his best, “women can be such fools.”</p><p>Daenerys just smirked at that last retort… and her voice was very kind when she answered her ghost, frustrating him in the process: “You, of all people, should not have brought that up, Captain.” </p><p>She was following him with her eyes as he was evading her glance, casting ominous shadows once more about the room.</p><p>“But I’m sure,” she continued “it was very kind of you… Yet, you should know that I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”</p><p>Thunder resounded and, without thinking, Daenerys closed the distance between she and the Captain.</p><p>“Oh, really then?” Jorah smiled suddenly, softly, though he could have smirked while his tall frame bent down to better peer in Daenerys’ eyes.</p><p>He was forgetting himself, forgetting the goal he had set for himself, forgetting to push her away.</p><p>“I just wanted to see if you were really there,” Daenerys retorted, trying to sound matter-of-fact, her hand fluttering about the captain’s broad chest, but not daring to touch him.</p><p>“Of course, I’m really here.” The Captain was trying to sound gruff again, he really was, while getting closer and forcing Daenerys back… but his voice broke when he concluded: “I’ll still be here when you’ve packed up and gone.”</p><p>“But I’m not going.” <em>I’m not!</em> “The house suits me perfectly.”</p><p><em>Yes, Daenerys Targaryen, strike me down.</em> “It’s my house!” the Captain nonetheless managed to growl. Could she guess he was simply echoing the suffering he was inflicting on himself? She <em>had </em>to go, for her sake if not for his.</p><p>Or did she?</p><p>“I won’t be shouted at!” Daenerys cried out, turning her back to the ghost and, therefore, unaware of his expression, all at once crestfallen for having hurt her, and hopeful she’d argue until she’d change his mind.</p><p>Leaning on the sink, Daenerys’ eyes locked on the potted herbs which she was sure the Captain had revived for her. She was so confused now. “Everyone shouts at me and orders me about… and I’m sick of it, do you hear?”</p><p>Remorseful, the Captain was gently reaching for her, but she surprised him by turning swiftly ‘round.</p><p> “Blast! Blast! Blast!” she exploded, walking past him.</p><p>The ghost tried to speak but Daenerys turned again, cutting him short: “I won’t leave this house.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, bless you… </em>
</p><p><em>“</em>You can’t make me leave it,” Daenerys insisted, blind to the Captain’s relieved expression. “I won’t!”</p><p>It took all of Captain Mormont’s strength not to show Daenerys his undying admiration. But he did let his voice soften.</p><p>“Here, belay that, Daenerys Targaryen.”</p><p>He was approaching her again and she felt it once more, this current pushing them towards each other. His eyes were caring, and… it brought tears to hers. She had to turn away from him, putting one of her hands to her quivering mouth to swallow her sobs.</p><p>“Stop it now, do you hear me?” He wasn’t scolding, he was caressing her… with his voice, so low it vibrated up the nape of her neck.</p><p>The Captain was standing behind her shoulder now, she could tell.</p><p>“If there’s one thing I cannot stand,” he continued, very slowly, his voice dropping one more octave, “it’s a woman crying.” And though his next words were designed for anger, they were whispered and loving. “Stop it. Blast it all, madam.”</p><p>“I love this house,” Daenerys declared, to defend her tears.</p><p>She had to close her eyes, to stop herself from shaking, feeling the Captain come ‘round next to her. She knew he was watching her and waiting for her confession.</p><p>“I thought I must stay here the moment I saw it, the moment I saw your house. I can’t explain it, Captain. It was as if Keep Cottage itself were welcoming me… asking me to rescue it from being so empty.” </p><p>He winced on her words. A ghost was indeed a poor substitute for a real live man, but he checked himself when she turned once more to him.</p><p>“You can understand that, can’t you?” She was searching his eyes. “I suppose you think I’m just a silly woman… but that’s the way I feel.”</p><p>
  <em>Daenerys Targaryen, are you even real?</em>
</p><p>Captain Mormont had to scold himself mentally for his own thoughts. Were ghosts allowed to wonder if a flesh and blood woman was real? He’d have to be very careful with his retort.</p><p>“Well, you love the house,” he murmured, looking deep in Daenerys’ eyes. “That counts for you. And you’ve got spunk. You didn’t frighten like the others. That counts for you, too. You may stay…” <em>Forever, please do.</em></p><p>“Oh! I…” Daenerys was so relieved, she reached out to take the captain’s hands into her own… but he pulled back before she could touch him.</p><p>“Keep your distance, madam.” He was so flustered, he made Daenerys stutter again.</p><p>“I… I’m sorry. You made me so happy.”</p><p><em>She was, wasn’t she? She was beaming…</em> Looking at her, Jorah thought Daenerys’ smile could have melted the most formidable icebergs of Antarctica. And he had seen them. Clearly, nothing he could say would dampen her spirits.<strike></strike></p><p>“Then we’re agreed,” she added, tentatively, “you won’t try to scare us anymore? I don’t want Gilly frightened into fits.”</p><p>“I would never frighten a good woman into fits,” he retorted, “I didn’t frighten <em>you</em>, it seems.”</p><p>“But must <em>she </em>see you; Gilly? Think of the bad language she’d learn and the morals.”</p><p>Jorah Mormont blinked.<em> Was Daenerys Targaryen letting him know she wanted his haunting </em><em>to be… exclusive?</em></p><p>This conversation was getting to be impossibly confusing. Of course, the Captain was in greater part to blame for this, but he was getting a headache and he wasn’t even sure that was possible in his state of demise.</p><p>“Confound it, madam,” he declared intensely, “my language is most controlled… and as for my morals… I lived a man’s life, and well…”</p><p>Daenerys was sure she had never seen a man caught between bashfulness and pride, but such was Captain Jorah Mormont, his body ‘stancing’ but his expression modest. She quite forgot she had been upset just a few seconds ago.</p><p>“I can assure you,” Captain Mormont said, puffing up, “no woman’s ever been the worse for knowing me…” <em>Knowing you how, Captain?</em>  “and I’d like to know how many mealy-mouthed bluenoses with no sense of chivalry, or a desire to please, can say the same.”</p><p>“Captain Mormont!” Daenerys admonished, though she was more amused than shocked.</p><p><em>Oh! dear Gods, had he </em>spoken <em>those words? </em>For a second, Jorah looked paralyzed with embarrassment.</p><p>“Very well madam,” he started anew, desperate to regain his composure, “I’ll make a bargain with you. Leave my bedroom as it is… and I’ll promise not to go into any other room in the house. And your cook need never know anything about me.”</p><p>“But if you keep the best bedroom, where should I sleep?”</p><p>“In the best bedroom.” The words left him before he could stop them.</p><p>“But…” Daenerys had to blink, this time shocked for real.</p><p>“In heaven’s name, madam, why not? Why, bless my soul, I’m a spirit. I have no body. Not… not really,” he faltered before sounding surer, “I haven’t had one for years… Is that clear?”</p><p>“But I can see you.”</p><p>“All you see is an illusion.” The words pained him, and he almost growled them. “It’s like a blasted lantern slide.”</p><p>“Well, it’s not very convincing, you know…” Daenerys blurted out, her meaning so clear it made both she and the Captain blush. <em>I’ve never cast my eyes on a more manly specimen as you</em>—she might as well have said. Yet, Daenerys was able to conclude with a semblance of grace, “but I suppose it’s all right.”</p><p>“Then it’s settled,” Captain Mormont concurred, hiding his embarrassment, for both his sake and Daenerys’.</p><p>There was a new lull between them, their glance holding on to each other, both of them trying to pretend their arrangement was perfectly normal—and proper.</p><p>“I’m probably making a mistake,” the Captain nonetheless admitted. “I was always a fool for damsels in distress.”</p><p>“I’m not helpless,” Daenerys scolded Jorah. In truth, she was enjoying their sparring and impossible double entendres.</p><p>And so was he. <em>Dear Gods, what had he gotten himself into?</em></p><p>“If you’re so confoundedly competent…” the Captain almost smiled, “you’ll notice your kettle’s about to boil over.”</p><p>“Oh, so it is,” Daenerys smirked, not minding her host’s irony.</p><p>Feeling that his Lady—<em>his Lady…</em> oh, he was in so much trouble—had, once again, the upper hand and looking at her fill the water bottles with calm assurance, the ghost couldn’t help himself: “If these are meant to warm the bed, you’ll find you won’t need them: I don’t provide cold accommodations.”</p><p>Ah! That made Daenerys look up sharply at him with a bewildered expression. He rather enjoyed that.</p><p>“And, one thing more, madam,” he dared add. “You’ll find my painting now hangs in the master bedroom…”</p><p>To which Daenerys found her voice again. “It is?! You mean… you moved it yourself? You can move thi—”</p><p>“I can.”</p><p>“But must you? I mean, was this necessary? The portrait will be watching m—It’s a very poor painting, you know,” Daenerys lied to camouflage her fluster, her hands securing the caps on her bottles. She could clearly see, in her mind’s eye, the Captain’s figure over her mantlepiece, and his piercing glance following her.</p><p>“It’s my painting, madam; I didn’t invite your criticism.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh, she had insulted him.</em>
</p><p>“I thought,” he tried to explain, straightening his back, “you would appreciate my keeping you safe but, of course, if you—”</p><p>“Oh Captain,” Daenerys interrupted, “I only meant the painting doesn’t do you justice and—”</p><p>
  <em>Why was this so difficult?</em>
</p><p>“It would be my honour,” Daenerys tried again, “to have you…” <em>have you serve me…</em> “have your portrait hanging in the master bedroom. You make this part of the bargain.”</p><p>Jorah Mormont was very still, not knowing what to add or how to respond. He had said way too much already, and Daenerys Targaryen was looking at him with those violet eyes of hers, and… He finally found the strength to bow sharply and simply bid her goodnight, his baritone voice but a whisper, before moving out of her field of vision.</p><p>“Good night,” Daenerys breathed too, her body moving forward, as if to stop him. But the Captain had disappeared, leaving her to raise her hands to her burning cheeks. Yet, when thunder struck again, she found her wits.</p><p>“Captain Mormont, could you please—” But he didn’t let her finish. The gas lights flickered back to life, and Daenerys had to whisper the rest of her plea, blushing “—turn the light back on?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>**</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys quietly walked back inside the master bedroom, <em>her</em> bedroom, her eyes were on the Captain’s portrait. It was indeed hanging over the fireplace and, as such, it had a sweeping view of the whole room. Now that the storm had passed, the full moon was shining brightly on the canvas and Daenerys couldn’t help but sigh, looking up at the handsome visage peering down on her.</p><p>She didn’t care if she looked like a fawning <em>midinette</em>. She had never been allowed to be young. To fall in love, to feel infatuated. She was thrown into a loveless marriage and… Yes, she didn’t care if she looked like a silly girl looking up with awe at a most intriguing, infuriating and experienced rogue of a man! There was no one here to judge her. Though, of course, if the Captain was there… if he could see her…</p><p>Daenerys straightened her back and turned regally from the portrait to… the bed.</p><p>With the painting behind her, Daenerys could let her expression reflect how she truly felt.</p><p>
  <em>Oh, dear Gods, that bed!</em>
</p><p>She was hugging her warm water bottles to her bosom, as she walked through the room, her eyes widening in awe before reaching <em>the kingdom</em> that was this bed. It was as formidable and beautiful as when she first laid eyes on it. Sturdy and fortress-like, intricate and lovingly designed, with its velvet drapes and its detailed columns and headboard holding up the canopy. The rich wood panels were clearly carved by hand and the high mattresses were adorned with a beautiful eiderdown, midnight blue. Oh! The whole of it looked plush, so plush!</p><p>The bedspread had been partially laid aside, to welcome Daenerys. Soft white linens were waiting for her. One of her hands caressed the cover and sheets, and when her fingers slipped under them… she did find the bed to be warm. Blinking, a bit dumbstruck, Daenerys discarded her water bottles on a side table, her movement almost comical in its eagerness. The Captain had made a show of how welcoming he would make these sleeping arrangements, and, well, he was true to his word! Daenerys turned briefly to the portrait, cocking her head, and she smiled bashfully, as if admitting defeat. Well—a small one.</p><p>Looking once more to the bed, Daenerys noticed a sheer nightgown awaiting her pleasure. It was laid out elegantly on the bed cover, its vaporous form calling to her. She didn’t recognize the design as one of her own and it made her frown briefly, wondering where Gilly had found it. But her fingers glided on its softness and, smiling wistfully, Daenerys lifted the garment from the bed and then walked to her private bathroom to slip it on… almost forgetting the Captain’s implicit presence.</p><p><em>Almost</em> being the operative word.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Putting the finishing touches to her ablutions, Daenerys looked at herself in the mirror and had to smile. She felt and looked like a blushing bride, a newlywed adorning herself for her husband and lover. Her skin was flushed and glowing, silky smooth after her bath, and the diaphanous veils of the nightgown complimented her. Most of all, the garment showcased the swell of her breasts and it made her feel… incredibly desirable. In a word, she looked beautiful—and ravishing, and otherworldly. Which was three words, not one.</p><p>
  <em>My dear, never let anyone tell you to be ashamed of your figure!</em>
</p><p>Oh! Daenerys had to bite her lip not to laugh out loud imagining Captain Mormont speaking those words.</p><p>Because she had indeed imagined them, yes?</p><p>To which, of course, the ghost did not answer.</p><p>Still smiling, Daenerys had to shake her head in disbelief. <em>You are only going to bed. Do get a grip on yourself! </em></p><p>Yet, when she came out of the bathroom, Daenerys had to pause.</p><p>The bedroom was aglow. There were logs burning in the fireplace and it cast the whole room in soft, flickering amber light. Now <em>this</em>, this was the Captain’s doing, surely. Everything, every shimmering object looked like it was welcoming her. Like those blue, blue eyes sparkling on that portrait.</p><p>Walking slowly, trying to curb her smile, Daenerys found she couldn’t stop one of her arms from crossing lightly over her bosom, in a slightly foolish attempt at modesty.</p><p><em>In an endearing attempt at modesty</em>, the ghost corrected, unbeknownst to his guest.</p><p>Yet, he did not show himself, nor made himself heard. He let Daenerys walk to the open door of the bow window and put her hand on its handle, just a breath away from closing it. The ocean wind was blowing in and it made Daenerys shiver with delight. It was cool, almost cold, like the waves laving the white sands below the vertiginous cliffs of the estate, and it sent gooseflesh up her skin. She couldn’t stop herself from breathing in, sharply, and delighting in how the breeze made pesky the buds of her breasts. How very naughty. How very pleasurable! She had to bite her lip again as she left the window open.</p><p>Daenerys then walked back to the bed and, lifting the elm of her gown, she set her foot on the short ladder, the one meant to help her onto the high mattresses. Doing so, she had to stop, just to breathe in, her eyes sparkling. This bed was going to be <em>her</em> bed! This bed which the Captain had once made his own. This bed which surely, surely, he had hoped to share… and who would not have wanted to share his bed? Who? Who could have been foolish enough and heartless enough and blind enough to refuse such an offer?… Well, whoever they were, she was now overshadowing, banishing, usurping.</p><p>The Captain had let her in, he had welcomed her, and this was going to be <em>her</em> bed from now on.</p><p>She slipped inside the covers, and she smiled again because, oh! Jorah Mormont was indeed no wintry man! The bed was cosy and warm! So <em>perfectly</em> warm. It made Daenerys almost purr like a cat as she settled inside, her small form swallowed in the generous berth of the bed. She could have spread her limbs in the shape of a starfish and not have reached the edge of it, but she chose to pull the covers and the pillows to her, huddling in the very centre of her cocoon. Her eyes were closed, as she smiled in delight, but when she opened them again, she noticed a small bouquet of violet roses, set in a fine translucent vase on her bedside table. She reached for them, to smell their perfume, <em>so exquisite</em>, and in doing so, her eyes fell again on the Captain’s portrait, looking at her from across the room. With the bouquet to her nose, Daenerys brushed her lips on the petals and mouthed ‘thank you’ to her host, silently.</p><p>Setting back the flowers in the vase, she laid her head on her pillows, keeping her eyes on Jorah Mormont’s semblance, and she sighed towards slumber, sleeping like never before. Peacefully, that is. And for the first time in her life! But, most of all, with the assurance that tomorrow would be filled with joy and the promise of wonder.</p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p>Daenerys never saw the Captain appear, nor bend carefully to her form, and gaze at her with such pride and admiration.</p><p>Was this what he had been waiting for, all those years of wandering and wondering in limbo? There had been silence before her, and numbing seconds piling up forever, like sand in an hourglass… and now she had come, this mesmerizing stranger, and suddenly he wasn’t alone anymore and he had no care for the hourglass.</p><p>The sleeping princess never saw Jorah’s hand reach for her face and stop before touching her cheek.</p><p>Neither did she see him invite the breeze to blow a strand of her hair away from her face.</p><p>And she did not hear him whisper to her.</p><p>“Daenerys Targaryen, though you shall be the end of me, I shall not be the end of you.”</p><p>Words engraved in stone. Words carved in a Captain’s heart, a Knight’s heart.</p><p>“Will you let me stand by you, proud and tall?” Jorah asked and then paused, tempted to bend closer, but keeping still, heroically. “You will, will you not? Tell me you will…”</p><p>But Daenerys was sleeping and could not answer.</p><p>There had been so much despair in the Captain’s words, he had to pull back, to feel strong once more. And he needed to be strong. For her.</p><p>“Madam, you shall know happiness in this house, all else be damned! I swear this to you!”</p><p>And thunder resounded over the sea.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Daenerys's thought that Jorah is indeed no 'wintry man' is, of course, an homage to Iain Glen's 2006 turn in Arthur Miller's THE CRUCIBLE where that line is addressed to his character, John Proctor, by his young lover :-)</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. In which Ms Targaryen explores the Keep and its secret garden</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Having finally settled into The Keep, Daenerys discovers its nooks and crannies, and the secrets of its enchanted garden—the most astonishing of all being its Ghost, of course. Its gallant and infuriating Ghost, Captain Jorah Mormont.</p>
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  <strong>THE KEEP</strong>
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  <strong>CHAPTER 3</strong>
</p><p>“There! That’s the last of them,” Daenerys exclaimed cheerfully upon finishing her unpacking, her summer dresses hanging in the ample closet, her cashmere shawls neatly resting in cedar chests and the final wee bundle of lacy finery put away in scented drawers.</p><p>It’s quite possible Daenerys had forgotten to turn her back to Captain Mormont’s portrait when she had attended to her undergarments, but she decided to pretend she was sure she had.</p><p>Smiling to herself in the full mirror adjacent to the bed, the new Lady of Keep Cottage admired the way her white cotton dress was hugging her waist while exposing her collarbones. Edwardian fashion truly became her!</p><p>Daenerys was glad Gilly and she had visited Whitecliff again, to discover its quaint little shops; Daenerys spending time with her new seamstress and Gilly… Oh Gilly possibly calling on Mr Tarly, because though she had travelled with freshly baked cookies, none were left in her basket when she had joined her for tea.</p><p>“Never held with mourning <em>meself</em>.”</p><p>The Captain! He still made her jump when he appeared, but Daenerys had learned to hide it well and, this morning, she pretended like he wasn’t even there, still admiring herself in the mirror, swinging this way and that.</p><p>Jorah had to smile, crossing his arms about his chest and recognizing a new sparring match afoot.</p><p>“Black dresses, black hats, black gloves, black petticoats, black silk stockings, black cors—"</p><p>“Dear Captain Mormont,” Daenerys finally deigned respond to her host, and interrupting him before he undressed her further with his words, “I take it you approve of my new wardrobe?” she asked, smiling at him through the mirror, and resplendent in white.</p><p><em>What fool would not?!</em> Jorah wanted to exclaim. Yet, he downplayed his admiration. “Seven hells, yes! I say life’s black enough as it is without dressing in it, too.” Not that Daenerys had, really. She was quite charming, in a daring sort of way, when she dressed like a boy, and walked the cliffs.</p><p>“Leave it to you, dear Sir, to find the words to a woman’s heart.”</p><p>At that deadpan retort, the Captain had to lower his head to hide his smile. He was not about to tell her he loved it when she let him accompany her on her outings, and asked him to name the smaller islands in the emerald green distance of the sea, or wondered about a species of bird new to her… or when she’d let him pick a wildflower, for her to put in her herbarium. He would have preferred her hair, but—</p><p>“Besides,” Daenerys continued, “I’ve found that, ever since crossing into Scotland, life isn’t as bad as that. I’m quite taken with Bear Island, I’ll have you know, and…” now turning to the Captain, she beamed the last of her sentence, “I love Keep Cottage.”</p><p>“As it loves you, madam.”</p><p>Hiding one’s feelings in plain sight: the Targaryen and Mormont way!</p><p>“Well then, Captain, have you no <em>real </em>complaint for me today? Let’s see…”</p><p>Jorah was smirking, looking at Daenerys approach him and putting a finger to her lips, as if in deep reflection.</p><p>“What shall we argue over?” she continued, “The curtains I put up, maybe? Not too feminine for you? You’ve not said a word, I’m almost worried.”</p><p>As Daenerys was now standing very near him, Jorah put his hand on his hips and bent down to her luminescent features to gently squash her provocation. “Sometimes, madam, even ghosts think the day too beautiful to argue.”</p><p>And it was indeed a beautiful day, a glorious one, born in resplendent sunrise and tender dew, the likes Bear Island did not often see… but which was slowly becoming the norm on Keep Cottage’s grounds, for the small estate had, somehow, developed its own microclimate!</p><p>Every morning, Daenerys would wake when a sunbeam tickled her nose and made her lashes flutter open. The side window to the master bedroom gave to the East and every pink and peach ray born out of the waking sky was allowed in. The Captain saw to it, toying with the curtain to let the light in. He felt quite impish, waking his Lady in this fashion, but the nights were so long without her that he longed for mornings to bring her back to him.</p><p>This said, of course, he had thought about it—staying by her side, while she slept. But then, she would not have. Slept, that is. Because she would have chastised him and ordered him out, quite upset, and rightly so. Or she would not have slept because… because she and he, maybe, could have… Oh, why did he torture himself with these thoughts? These impossible dreams? And why must he experience these longings? Was there no peace to be had in the afterlife?</p><p>When he was alive, Jorah Mormont had been known for his brooding, sulking ways, and he wasn’t much different as a ghost. But, ever since Daenerys Targaryen had erupted in his house, he craved levity, he hungered for the light she brought, the fire in her wit, her eyes, her retorts, and her pulse… beating on her neck, her swan’s neck. When she’d fall asleep and just before she woke, he’d pause, to contemplate her, to contemplate <em>it</em>, her pulse. He wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Like a Knight, he knelt at its altar. Had he been a man, he would have kissed her there, where the artery broke the stillness of her porcelain skin, until his lips felt her heartbeat accelerate and plead for more. He would have… he would have broken so many rules, and braved so many obstacles. But he wasn’t a man anymore, was he? Therefore, he just knelt, in worship, and smiled sadly… until he made the birds wake, to sing to his Lady. And until he’d make the light tease her eyes open, for her to come back to him.</p><p>Their first days together had been spent in exploration of Keep Cottage or, rather, Daenerys’ discovery of all its nooks and crannies. She and Gilly were quite industrious, cleaning every room, and he couldn’t help but smile when Daenerys would “fall into a hole,” like Alice in Wonderland, pausing in her chores because a book grabbed her attention, or an intricate spider’s web shimmered on a windowpane, or trunks like treasure chests caught her fancy. Once, she forgot time itself when stumbling upon a secret alembic; a tiny laboratory on the upper floor filled with beautifully intricate beakers and small bottles filled with multi-coloured oils and essences. All these notebooks laying around, and dried herbs hanging from dainty hooks, and petals in jars! They came from the wealth of flowers found at The Keep; Daenerys was sure of it. Wild ones, or grown and groomed ones, blooming in shrubs and trees, or hiding in the woods—<em>oh what a treasure!</em> And smelling this bottle and that one, and this one again, she lost herself in a wonderland of scents… under the smitten eyes of her Captain who could only hope she’d find there, the perfume which The Keep had distilled for her.</p><p>Could this elixir keep her here always…</p><p>So it was that Jorah had let Daenerys touch and smell everything, taking it upon himself to make the dust disappear. And he’d laugh when Daenerys would look up from her discoveries, believing she had done the work herself, especially when Gilly would marvel at her prowess.</p><p>“Milady, you surely went to the finest schools to have learned to labour so without getting dirty!” Gilly would say. “I have half a mind to let you do <em>all</em> the cleaning.”</p><p>Jorah’s most cherished moments though were those tranquil interludes when Daenerys would walk the beach barefoot, deep in thought, her eyes looking towards the infinite periwinkle and milky blues of the sea, or when she’d seek refuge on the veranda, or in the garden, or high in the widow’s walk to write in her diary. She wrote and wrote and wrote! Her favourite time was right after dawn, right after he’d awaken her. He’d remain quiet so as not to break her concentration, or interfere with her muse, but he’d make sure <em>everything</em> was perfect. Because though she would never reign, Daenerys Targaryen would be Queen of this estate. Queen of his heart. Jorah made the sunbeams twinkle after her, on her way up or down the staircases, passing through the crystal of chandeliers to cast tiny rainbows on the walls. He made the breeze from the open windows balmy. And the dark wood panelling of the floors warm under her naked feet. Because she’d go barefoot. His <em>barefoot Contessa</em>! He <em>loved</em> that about her. He could tell she thirsted for freedom and, oh! how gracefully she broke the rules. It was a sight to behold!</p><p>For one thing, she wouldn’t dress in the morning when she went in search of one of her hiding places to write. A bit dishevelled, she’d jump out of bed and gracefully glide away, not minding the light passing through her alluring nightgown. Or was it <em>he</em>, not minding the light passing through her alluring nightgown? The one he had gifted her, of course. The one he was now sure had been made for her forms, her beauty, her spirit. It floated about her when she ran down the staircases, light as a feather, and it stole his breath away when the wind picked up its veils once she ran outside, to walk through the wet grass. It gave her the appearance of a pixie. His pixie! Especially when she’d choose the garden to hide in, and deeper still, the orchard. In the far, far distance, the snow-capped mountains of Bear Island loomed, almost as high as the Alps, but in the orchard, they were in the softest of glens. They might have been in Cornwall or faery Glastonbury.</p><p>Smiling, Jorah wondered when Daenerys would notice how so very long the blossom season lasted. Because, of course, he needed to frame her writing spells in blossom showers and scent. He hoped it was poems she wrote. He hoped, sometimes, she thought of him.</p><p>One morning, he got his answer. As per her ritual, she had jumped out of bed, grabbed her diary and fountain pen, and glided down the stairs but, as she stepped outside, noticing a chill in the air—oh, he had forgotten to make it temperate!—she had stopped in her tracks and suddenly turned her head towards him, <em>seeing him</em>.</p><p>“Captain,” she had asked him sweetly, “would you mind very much fetching my shawl? I believe I could use it this morning.”</p><p>Oh! Had she known from the first? That he had always been there? He had not meant for her to see him, during her early morning outings, and yet she did.</p><p>“Of course, madam,” he had breathed, blushing and bowing his head.</p><p>A few seconds later, she had smiled when he had wrapped her naked shoulders in white cashmere as she sat in her favourite reclining chair, under an apple tree.</p><p>“Will you stay with me, Captain?”</p><p>“Of course. If it pleases you.”</p><p>Oh! It pleased Daenerys very much.</p><p>She had not seen the Captain from the first. She had only felt his presence. And not even that. If truth be told, she had <em>wished</em> him before being sure he was there when she opened her eyes. It had been some sort of game. Pretending he watched her sleep, hoping he saw how <em>purringly</em> comfy she felt in his bed, and then how warm and wanton her body was when stretching upon waking. She felt so naughty then. Did he guess the candied fruit of her breasts through her nightgown?</p><p>—<em>Oh, please, was this an actual question?</em> Captain Mormont felt like a slave on a galley ship when he’d see her so offered—</p><p>Not knowing her presence tortured her Captain, Daenerys wondered: did he see her swim the ocean, naked?</p><p>—<em>No, of course not! </em>He had been and remained a gentleman… though, of course, what if some unfortunate incident befell Daenerys? <em>Someone</em> had to gaze upon her, did they not, to protect her?—</p><p>Oh! His Lady knew a myriad of ways to torture him…</p><p>But she had her own thoughts to struggle with.</p><p>For instance, when she laid in the warm sun, on those boulders sprayed by the ice-cold sea, and she pretended to dream, only to murmur Jorah’s name: she did fantasize him pleading with her to hide her modesty, until, unable to resist, he’d bend down to kiss her bosom and disrobe her completely. It was her favourite fantasy! And if she ran outside like a wildling, in the morn’, free and barely dressed, she couldn’t help but wonder: would the Captain scold her, or would her ways chain him to her?</p><p>Yes, her thoughts were free-spirited and fanciful, because Daenerys was blossoming into a woman, away from the abuse of her past. Truth was, she felt safe and secure under Jorah’s gaze, she felt loved and coveted, and she never wanted it to end.</p><p>Like these apple blossoms, falling on the pages she was scribbling on.</p><p>“Captain?” she asked, making him start.</p><p>Daenerys was lounging in her chaise and Jorah was standing guard next to her. Possibly in case a seagull or two might attack. Though, silently, he was also taking stock of all the new flowers growing about.</p><p>“Is Bear Island experiencing an unprecedentedly long spring?”</p><p>“Ah!”</p><p>“Ah—Captain?”</p><p>“Yes, I see I must come clean and reveal my secret ‘evil’ plan,” Jorah jested with flourish.</p><p>“For world domination?” Daenerys played along, smirking.</p><p>“No, madam. I am not a greedy despot. A single heart will do.”</p><p>At that, Daenerys laughed but did accept Jorah’s invitation to follow him; deeper into the orchard. How intriguing. She couldn’t help feeling a bit giddy, almost tipsy really, from the sense of danger the Captain exuded from time to time. Where was he taking her?… As they were walking through the orchard, he spoke suddenly, smiling to her.</p><p>“Your coming to Keep Cottage has disrupted the weather patterns, madam. And turned them into law…”</p><p>“Oh?” Daenerys whispered, looking up expectantly at Jorah, with an impish smile.</p><p>“Oh yes!” he answered, while pushing branches from their path. And then, using his deep velvet voice, and in a sing-song rhythm, Jorah almost sang to her as he explained the wonders he could effect. “You see,” he told her:</p><p>
  <em>The climate must be perfect all the year!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>July and August cannot be too hot.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And there’s a legal limit to the snow here.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>At the Keep.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The winter is forbidden till December.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And exits March</em>
</p><p>
  <em>the second on the dot!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>By order,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>summer lingers through September…</em>
</p><p>Amused, Daenerys held her laughter but did not interrupt, so the Captain continued.</p><p>
  <em>I know it sounds a bit bizarre but,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>since your coming here,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>that’s how conditions are.</em>
</p><p>“Indeed?… And I suppose the autumn leaves fall in neat little piles?”</p><p>“Oh no, my Lady,” Jorah smiled, “They <em>woosh</em>—blow away, completely,” he affirmed, mimicking the sound of the wind with his deep, rumbling voice. And seeing Daenerys smile in turn, he added, cockily: “At night. Of course!”</p><p>“Of course,” Daenerys concurred, laughing.</p><p>“I know it gives a person pause. But, at the Keep, those are the legal laws,” the Captain insisted. “You’ll see, madam!”</p><p>
  <em>The rain may never fall till after sundown.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>By eight, the morning fog should disappear.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And by nine p.m., </em>
</p><p>
  <em>the moonlight appear.</em>
</p><p><em>Could he be more magical?</em> wondered Daenerys.</p><p>“In short,” Jorah paused, as they reached his favourite tree in the orchard, the one hiding a beehive.</p><p>
  <em>There is simply not…</em>
</p><p>His voice dropped.</p><p>
  <em>a more congenial spot…</em>
</p><p>His blue, blue eyes sparkled and slipped to her lips.</p><p>
  <em>Than the Keep, for happily-ever-aftering—</em>
</p><p>“Happily-ever-aftering?” Daenerys asked, mesmerized.</p><p>“Aye,” the Captain assured her, his tall frame bending to her, enveloping her.</p><p>
  <em>Happily-ever-aftering. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Right here, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>madam, </em>
</p><p>
  <em>in your Keep. </em>
</p><p><em>And my heart</em>, he added silently.</p><p>Daenerys was holding her breath, as Jorah did not move, poised over her amidst the tree in bloom. She saw his Adam’s apple bob painfully in his throat, and then his smile waver. She felt the current between them grow stronger. And therefore, she couldn’t help herself. Her smile slipping upon his disappearing, she raised herself on tiptoe to offer her lips… but Jorah backed away, leaving her feeling vaguely ashamed.</p><p>“Madam…” he tried to soften the blow.</p><p>“No, I’m sorry Captain. I should not have presumed…”</p><p>“Daenerys…”</p><p>Oh! The way he spoke her name! Daenerys quickly lifted her eyes to Jorah, once more hopeful, but the chagrin she saw there constricted her heart.</p><p>“Let me explain…” he offered.</p><p>“No Captain, please, there is no need… I should go back now; Gilly will call on me soon and—”</p><p>“I will hurt you!” Jorah interrupted, his voice breaking.</p><p>“You will what?” Daenerys was shocked. “Of course, you won’t!”</p><p>“Madam, please, hear me out!” Jorah pleaded, reaching for Daenerys without touching her, but standing as close as one could without actually coming into contact.</p><p>“We have only known each other for a few days but believe me when I say I have wished and dreamed and prayed so long for… for…” —Oh, the pain in his eyes, and his features, as he could not even finish his sentence, his jaw setting squarely, the muscles under his chiselled cheekbones twitching… “But I cannot. I cannot, Daenerys…”</p><p>She wasn’t understanding. Her violet eyes were misting over and so… and so…</p><p>“See for yourself,” Jorah whispered, his voice straining.</p><p>There were bees flying about the blossoms in the trees surrounding them. Slowly, Jorah reached for them. Daenerys half blurted out to take care but then she watched, transfixed, as Jorah was able, very delicately, to coax one of the bees to come to him. It buzzed as it played with him. Jorah made the bee dance upon his fingers until, suddenly, the insect twirled again but faltered. And fell quiet, in the palm of his hand.</p><p>Dead.</p><p>He caressed its soft fur with his finger but to no avail. The bee never moved again.</p><p>When Daenerys lifted her eyes to Jorah, they were full of tears.</p><p>“I’m sorry, Captain,” she murmured.</p><p>“No more than I, madam.”</p><p>Time stood still between them, like a sentence.</p><p>“I am a ghost, you see. And as such, it seems, I only beget… <em>death</em>.”</p><p>His statement had such a finality to it.</p><p>A tear pearled and then dropped from Daenerys’ eye, flooding Jorah’s heart. It was worse when he saw her lift her hand to him, open palmed, in an invitation for him to let the sorry bee fall into her small crucible, hoping beyond hope that it would buzz awake.</p><p>But it did not.</p><p>Lifting her eyes to the Captain, Daenerys didn’t even try to hide her silent tears. They connected like this, beyond words, measuring the impossibilities between them, and then, because it was unfathomable, because she could not begin to accept their fate, she turned from Jorah’s deep soulful glance and, extending her arm, she rested the bee inside a cluster of flowers shivering in the wind, on a branch above her head.</p><p>“Your apple blossoms won’t mind, will they Captain?” Daenerys whispered.</p><p>“The blossoms will cherish the bee, my Lady, if only because you chose them for its final rest.”</p><p>They would have wanted to fall into each other’s arms but their words of comfort would have to suffice. There was a trail of reddish dust shimmering inside the flowers Daenerys had just visited, but whether it was her thumb trailing the bee’s fur, or the morning rays lavishing their warmth through the petals, she failed to see it. Her tearful eyes were turned towards the rising sun.</p><p>It was going to be another glorious day. How? How could that be, with both Jorah and she feeling so forlorn?</p><p>Daenerys let a few seconds pass in silence, just listening to the wind. She was unable to face Jorah, unable to show him just how sad she felt.</p><p>“Madam…” she heard the Captain whisper, so very faintly. He was hurting too. He was… He was so desperate to know how he could—</p><p>“Captain,” Daenerys whispered back, interrupting Jorah’s train of thoughts but not yet turning to him, “you and I, we shall find our own path—won’t we?”</p><p>In the far, far distance of Whitecliff, a lovely volley of bells rang in the air. And a warm breeze caressed Daenerys’ face just as she felt Jorah approach her. His voice, just as warm, then cascaded down the shell of her ear.</p><p>“Yes,” he answered her, with so much conviction. “Yes, madam. If you’ll have me.”</p><p>Daenerys turned to Jorah, then, and smiled through her tears, her face as radiant as the sunbeams cutting through the clouds, enlightening them both, in their orchard. She was so brave, so trusting and offered, the Captain felt anointed. By a Queen. The Queen she should have been, and was, to him. And so, he smiled in turn, and the wind twirled ‘round them, making the blossoms fly in the golden light, disrupting the bees. The insects flew ‘round Daenerys, crowning her without endangering her. The Captain’s doing.</p><p>Daenerys started, looking about her, enchanted, and then back again towards her own golden conjurer. The Captain was capable of so much beauty.</p><p>Yet he remained a ghost, did he not? And, alas, nothing, nothing would ever change that.</p><p>Of course, every time this word hung between them, <em>ghost</em>, it tugged at their heart. And never as much as when Jorah, himself, said it out loud, laying it bare for them to gaze at it.</p><p>The way he had, that morning, in the master bedroom when Daenerys had tried her summer wardrobe, standing very near him, with a provoking smirk on her lips.</p><p>“Sometimes, madam,” Jorah had declared, “even ghosts think the day too beautiful to argue.”</p><p>They were both smiling into each other’s eyes until Jorah’s playful utterance began to reverberate and threaten to chagrin them. In the lull, they both agreed to argue after all—because the game protected them from sorrow.</p><p>“Though now that you mention them, the curtains,” Jorah ventured, “did you have to choose them with frills? I mean, Seven Hells, madam—"</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t swear. It’s so ugly,” Daenerys scolded her Captain, in jest.  </p><p>“If you think that’s ugly… it’s a good thing you can’t read my thoughts,” he growled, scratching his gruff.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! Can’t I?</em>
</p><p>“Do be careful Captain. One day… One day I might just probe that mind of yours and <em>brrrrrr</em> what shall I find?” Daenerys susurrated.</p><p>“Terrible tales, I assure you, filled with pirates and blood and guts—”</p><p>“And no wenches?” Daenerys asked, her tone as mocking as her lifted eyebrows.</p><p>“Oh! No-no-no: wenches galore!” Jorah exclaimed. “You’ll be shocked, madam!”</p><p>At that, Daenerys laughed out loud, walking away from Jorah, and he had to curb his own smile. “You hurt my pride, my Lady.”</p><p>Daenerys laughed again, turning her face to the Captain while opening her frilly curtains. “Oh, I doubt that very much, you seem quite endowed in this regard!”</p><p>“Oh really?” Jorah asked, reappearing right next to Daenerys—he had a knack for doing that and making her start.</p><p>“Yes! I’ll also say,” she continued, “now that I have researched hauntings and ghosts, that I find you very earthly for a spirit.”</p><p><em>If only it were true, </em>Jorah couldn’t help thinking.</p><p>“And that displeases you, madam?”</p><p>“I shan’t answer that question without the presence of my solicitor, good Captain,” Daenerys declared with a dash of pompous humour.</p><p>“Madam, you are enough to make a saintly knight take to blasphemy!”</p><p>
  <em>Please!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys laughed again, turning ‘round and resting her arm on the shiny telescope. She was posing like a deity, up on her pedestal, “If you insist on haunting me…” <em>and please do</em>, “you might at least be more agreeable about it.”</p><p>“Why should I be agreeable?” Jorah grumbled, his tall handsome frame once more approaching Daenerys; never able to stay away for long.</p><p>“Well,” his goddess proposed, “as long as we’re living—I mean, if we’re to be thrown together so much… life’s too short to be forever barking at each other.”</p><p>“Your life may be short, madam. I have an unlimited time at my disposal.”</p><p>Though Jorah was still jesting, he regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. He wanted Daenerys to live forever; he wanted her to be immortal were it to mean they’d be forever apart, if only he could remain forever near.</p><p>Daenerys saw the sadness seep in his blue, blue eyes and so she murmured her rebuff.</p><p>“There you go, arguing again,” <em>and pulling at my heart as yours hurts so deeply</em>, “try to say something pleasant for a change.”</p><p>“Hum,” Jorah nodded, finding his composure again and appraising Daenerys, up and down, until he made her cluck her tongue, and raise an eyebrow. She was about to scold him when…</p><p>“That’s a—that’s a pretty ring you have on.”</p><p>She wasn’t expecting the compliment and she looked down, her fingers brushing over the set of pearls on the platinum ring gracing her right hand.</p><p>“Oh, thank you, sir,” she breathed, “It was my mother’s.”</p><p>He had meant to make her smile, but he had made her sad. <em>Mormont, you eel!</em></p><p>“Much better than smothering yourself in all that ugly black crepe,” he heard himself add, in a clumsy attempt at distracting Daenerys. She seemed to thrive best when the fire in her was stoked.</p><p>“I happen to have been wearing mourning for my husband.”</p><p>Her cheeks were flushed. <em>It was working</em>, Jorah thought. And then, he threw caution to the wind.</p><p>“A husband whom you did not love.”</p><p>“How dare you say that!”</p><p><em>Oh,</em> <em>it worked very well!</em></p><p>“Because it’s true. You were fond of him perhaps, but you didn’t love him.”</p><p><em>I didn’t love him, that much was true. Were ghosts able to read one’s intimate thoughts?</em> Daenerys wondered, her heart beating wildly. She had to counter-attack. Besides, she was curious herself and she wanted to know.</p><p>“I suppose you’re jealous because no one put on mourning for you.”</p><p>Jorah retreated, on those words, as if struck. <em>Ah! Touché!</em> Daenerys thought. But then, he swung back towards her, full of bravado.</p><p>“That shows how little you know about it.”</p><p>
  <em>Was it bravado, though? What if…?</em>
</p><p>“Some poor, misguided female no doubt,” Daenerys ventured, willing the irony in her voice to hide the silly hope that maybe she was, and had been, the only woman in his life.</p><p>“Three poor, misguided females, to be exact.”</p><p><em>Three?!</em> Daenerys couldn’t stop herself from stealing a glance towards the bed. “I should—I should think you’d be ashamed of it instead of boasting about it.”</p><p><em>Bloody hell, how had this argument begun?</em> Jorah wasn’t exactly lying but he was so far from the truth. And now Daenerys was looking at him with… <em>Well, might as well sink with the ship.</em> “Why did you marry him?”</p><p>And that stole her breath. Daenerys blinked, looking at Jorah, and then he saw it, in her eyes. He had gone—not too far—but far enough to touch on something that hurt.</p><p>Truly.</p><p>And that’s not what Jorah had aimed for. He had been sure he was the only one of the two to have been miserable, in love. <em>He</em> had loved unrequitedly. <em>He</em> had suffered. But he did not wish it upon her. At the most, maybe Daenerys had entered into a marital state as all young women did, in good society—because it was expected of them, never knowing there could be another path. And maybe her husband had been bland, and boring, and therefore, good riddance! Yes, he wished him dead. He was happy for this man’s demise because it had brought Daenerys here, to Keep Cottage, and she was his! In a fashion. She was! But Jorah had not imagined his Lady unhappy. He hadn’t. She was too luminous to have suffered. And yet—</p><p>“I remember,” she began, glancing away, her tone almost that of a seer looking deep and far into the past, “sitting in my mother’s library. I’d—I’d just finished a novel in which the heroine was kissed in the rose garden and lived happily ever after. My brother came in, and said I was to be married. To a Khal Drogo. For a few seconds, for a few days, I thought… I thought maybe this would be the beginning of a great adventure. Love. Marriage. The books I read were full of romance. But…”</p><p>“It was different after you left the Library.”</p><p>Once more, Daenerys turned her glance to Jorah and—</p><p>Oh! she could have explained. She could have described. In so many words or just a few, in harsh details or discreet metaphors, screaming or crying but, in the end, she just said:</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Her expression was so calm. It hid… bravery. And, suddenly, fear crept in Jorah’s heart, and he found himself straightening up and looking intently into Daenerys’ eyes.</p><p>Surely, this Khal Drogo had not… Surely, he didn’t!</p><p>“Daenerys…” she heard Jorah whisper. How velvety, the concern in his voice. He never added: <em>He didn’t beat you, did he? He didn’t force himself upon you? </em>But she read the questions in his eyes, she saw his fierce protectiveness in the twitching of his jaw, and the courtly love, in his hand reaching for her, almost shaking. “Your husband?”</p><p>The Captain couldn’t form the words he meant to say, and he couldn’t touch Daenerys. He shouldn’t, they both knew this. Not even brush her skin.</p><p>And yet, Jorah dared graze her cheek, his fingers hovering next to her skin, and Daenerys felt it again, the invisible electric current running from him to her. It somehow gave her the strength to be the bravest of the two.</p><p>“You see, Captain, o my Captain,” and she couldn’t help smiling, hearing the Captain inhale softly at the whisper of his title said in so much longing, “my husband could never have designed a house like yours. This was not the kind of man he was. He could never have conceived of an abode full of light and windows to let the sea breeze in. He would never have made the kitchen ample and warm; he would never have built gracious and round staircases, or hidden ones, for me to climb and climb and climb…”</p><p>Oh! how Daenerys’ voice and features were transfiguring themselves now, towards the sublime, moving Jorah so!</p><p>She interrupted herself, seized suddenly with a question: “Keep Cottage reminds me of something—an old song, or—or a poem: ‘Magic casements, opening on the foam of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn,’ do you see the one I mean?”</p><p>“Aye,” Jorah nodded, mesmerized. <em>How could she know?</em> “The Nightingale.”</p><p>“Of course, Keats!” Daenerys exclaimed, before resuming her first train of thought.</p><p>“Well, Captain Jorah Mormont, my husband would never have built a house after a poem, nor would he have been caught dead reading one!” She was smiling now. “He would never have gone to sea reading lyric poetry up in the crow’s nest with the sheets bellying in the wind—”</p><p>“Sails,” Jorah corrected sweetly.</p><p>“Oh! Of course!” she exclaimed and, remembering, Daenerys recited quickly: “A sheet’s a line, a rope. Ropes can’t belly.”</p><p>“Indeed, they cannot madam,” Jorah murmured, smiling softly, and not even hearing his own words, so entranced was he by his Lady.</p><p>“Your books have taught me that. <em>You</em> have taught me that.”</p><p>Smiling, Daenerys glided closer. “My husband never gave me a home, Captain. But you have. And <em>you</em> designed it, did you not, this house?”</p><p>“I did.” Jorah heard himself say, swallowing hard.</p><p>“<em>You</em> planted those rose bushes yourself, and made them flower violet, like my eyes, when I came, and will again, season after season after season, will you not?”</p><p>“I will.” And his acquiescence sounded like a pledge, his heart hammering so, he thought he’d die a second time.</p><p>“And, Captain,” she paused, with such assurance, before asking, “<em>you</em> carved the bed in which I sleep, in which I sigh, and in which I dream?”</p><p>“I have.”</p><p>Oh Gods, Daenerys was so close now.</p><p>He felt their breath mingling, the air between them coming alive with a million minuscule electrical sparks. It was so dangerous. He was sure they shouldn’t. He needed to pull back and he was about too, but Daenerys spoke again, perusing his lips and his features.</p><p>“And so, Jorah Mormont, know this. Whatever my life may have been before, it is no longer. It does not weigh on me anymore. I am free. I am a free woman, Captain.”</p><p>“Daenerys!” he breathed, just before…</p><p>“Milady!”</p><p>It was Gilly, exclaiming, and interrupting them, as she barged into the master bedroom. Her voice frightening Daenerys who yelped and had to hold on to the telescope, instead of the Captain. Jorah had disappeared, making her swing with the instrument to face her friend.</p><p>“A carriage! Approaching!” Gilly explained, out of breath. “We got callers; you have, I mean. And you won’t like it. And,” Gilly was almost in hysterics, “please come right away?”</p><p>And, as abruptly as she had appeared, Gilly was gone the next second, leaving Daenerys quite stunned and yet eagerly looking out the window.</p><p>“Daenerys?” Jorah exclaimed when reappearing, one hand pulling the frilly curtain open, and then turning to his Lady, all at once concerned and trying to overcome what almost occurred between them.</p><p>Peeling her eyes from the Captain, Daenerys blinked and then erupted upon recognizing her visitors: “Oh, dear! Whatever can they want?”</p><p>“Who is it?” Jorah questioned further, ready to fumigate the two female trespassers.</p><p>“My blasted in-laws!”</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Besides quoting dialogue from THE GHOST AND MRS MUIR (1947), this chapter also pays homage to and reformulates the title song to the 1967 feature CAMELOT. King Arthur seducing Guenevere, incognito, by singing the praise of his magical castle was too in line with Jorah's designs in this chapter, I simply had to gift him the same lyrics. Reformulated, of course, to praise The Keep. You'll find the original text here: https://www.allmusicals.com/lyrics/camelot/camelot.htm</p><p>And the excerpt from the film, here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ePj0c-BNR8U&amp;ab_channel=WarnerBros.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The unvarnished tale of a seaman's life?</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Daenerys finds herself destitute, she must find a way to afford remaining at The Keep... but she'll need the Captain's collaboration for her plan to work. And that is easier said than done! Though, of course, can Jorah truly resist his Lady?</p>
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</p><p> </p><p>THE KEEP - CHAPTER 4</p><p> </p><p>Her sisters-in-law! All the way in from London... Oh blast! This was a nightmare!</p><p>Daenerys could hear Doreah and Irri parlaying with Gilly downstairs, Mr Tarly’s voice also mingling in—he had driven them to Keep Cottage. Oh, what was she going to do? Turning to Jorah, Daenerys looked up to him, their intimate moment almost forgotten.</p><p>“Quick!” she pleaded, “Hide or—or go away, or decompose.”</p><p>“Dematerialize, madam.” Jorah corrected, finding his pride regardless of… of everything that had transpired:<em> that kiss</em>—that kiss which he had almost succumbed to, a kiss summoned by Daenerys forgoing how lethal his touch would be!</p><p>But how quickly the mood had changed looking upon their unwanted visitors. Their situation now had something of the comical under duress.</p><p>“Whatever it is, do it quickly,” pleaded Daenerys.</p><p>“No fear. They can’t see me or hear me unless I choose that they should,” tried to reassure the Captain.</p><p>“Oh, then please don’t choose.” She could just imagine what her handsome, formidable, Captain could do, therefore: “I’ll get rid of them.”</p><p>“Why don’t you let me, madam? I’ve had plenty of practice. Say the word, and I’ll keelhaul them.”</p><p>Oh! Jorah’s sardonic smile made Daenerys double-take. “No. You’re not to do anything!”</p><p>And before Jorah could argue, the door to the master bedroom flew open and Doreah waltzed in, followed by Irri, both of them catching the last of Daenerys’ plea to the Captain, now absent from the room.</p><p>“Well, Dany.”</p><p>“<em>Talking to herself?</em>” Irri whispered to her sister, a bit shaken, before moving to Daenerys, hands extended towards her: “Oh, Dany. You look so pale.”</p><p>Though Irri’s concern was true, her sister had none for her brother’s widow. Looking around, Doreah exclaimed: “Well! What an ugly room!”</p><p>“Oh, it isn’t really,” Daenerys answered, calm and composed, and trying her damnedest to keep the flaying to a minimum.</p><p>Still, Doreah snickered: “Whatever do you want with that telescope?”</p><p>“I—I like to look at the stars.”</p><p>“You never liked to look at the stars when you lived with us,” Irri remarked, in her soft voice.</p><p>“There are no stars to be seen in London, Irri. The nights are dark… and full of terrors.” There was a terrible truth hiding behind Daenerys’ ironic tone. Irri knew it and she lowered her head. But not her sister.</p><p>“Please!” snorted Doreah.</p><p>Ignoring the rebuff, Daenerys took Irri’s arm: “Won’t you sit down, dear?”</p><p>“And what a hideous painting,” insisted Doreah, as she looked at Jorah’s portrait... while <em>he</em> looked at her with a smirk. He couldn't wait to see Daenerys slay her.</p><p>Oh! How Daenerys hated the very fact that her in-laws were here, sullying her inner sanctum.</p><p>“Why on earth don’t you take it down?” Doreah went on.</p><p>“Because I like it!” Daenerys stated, proudly. “As a matter of fact, I’m very fond of it,” she declared, eyeing Jorah next to the fireplace. He tilted his head towards her in a short bow.</p><p>“Of course,” mocked Doreah, while Irri was, once again, sniffling, “If you want a portrait of a strange man in your room… well, that’s up to you.”</p><p>For a second, Daenerys had the distinct impression Doreah could see through her, could feel the Captain’s presence in the room, and measure the impropriety of their living arrangement, but she steeled her voice to answer her: “I’m sure you didn’t come here merely to criticize the decorations.”</p><p>“No, we did not,” gloated Doreah.</p><p>“Oh, poor Dany, we’ve such bad news for you,” whimpered Irri. “I suppose it’s all for the best though, everything considered. Don’t you, Doreah?” But her sister was not listening to her; she was looking at Daenerys with contempt.</p><p>“Maybe we’re just in time,” Irri insisted, turning once more to Daenerys. “So perhaps our bad news is good news after all… and now we can all go home and live together and forget all this nonsense about living alone.”</p><p>“What news is this?” Daenerys inquired, anxiety creeping up her spine. Sensing her distress, Jorah came to stand just behind her. She felt stronger for it.</p><p>“Your gold mine, Dany,” Doreah declared, with finality. “It’s petered out. They’ve stopped paying dividends.”</p><p>“It was in The Times this morning,” Irri added feebly.</p><p>“Oh.” It was like the wind was knocked out of Daenerys. Next to her, Jorah’s eyes narrowed, and his jaw tensed before he bent down to whisper his counsel.</p><p>“Avast now, madam,” Jorah susurrated with assurance to his Lady, “Don’t make a scene in front of these swabs.”</p><p>“I don’t intend to make a scene,” Daenerys whispered, so proud she forgot her sisters-in-law would hear her but not see the Captain. And indeed…</p><p>“<em>Did you hear her, Doreah?</em>”</p><p>“Yes, I heard her. Stop snivelling, Irri.”</p><p>Oh! what a nightmare! Suddenly, Daenerys remembered why she was suffocating in London. Why she had to leave the Khal’s entourage.</p><p>“The only charitable explanation,” Doreah declared with smugness, “is that the solitude has preyed on her mind.”</p><p>“She thinks you’ve got bats in your belfry,” translated the Captain.</p><p>“If you think I have bats in my belfry, Doreah, you'd do well to take care and pipe down” Daenerys exclaimed, shocking her visitors but making Jorah smile.</p><p>“Very well, I will pipe down, as you put it,” Doreah answered Daenerys, her voice glacial “but it should be perfectly obvious that with your income gone there’s only one course for you to follow… and that is to come home now, with us.”</p><p>“You mean give up this house?” Daenerys gasped, the shock in her voice alarming the Captain whose hand automatically went to where his officer’s sabre would have been, on his hip, had he been in service.</p><p>“Naturally,” insisted Doreah, while Irri was looking from her sister to Daenerys, “It was idiotic to take it in the first place… and now that you’re a pauper, how can you possibly stay?”</p><p>Though she meant to remain strong, Doreah’s words were sinking in and Daenerys was about to turn towards the Captain, when she felt his warmth behind her back and his breath, once more close to her ear, as he whispered there: “Don’t do it, please, Daenerys.”</p><p>Forgetting her in-laws or, rather, not caring in the very least that they were still there, Daenerys half-turned to Jorah and raised her eyes to him: “Captain Mormont, are you proposing— that I should stay for good?”</p><p>It was as though time stood still and, oh! he would have given her the World, just then!</p><p>“Yes,” the Captain answered, in no uncertain terms, his voice rumbling towards his Lady. “Now, tell them to shove off!” and he scowled playfully, before adding: “We’ll think of something.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Daenerys declared, turning proudly to her sisters-in-law who were now looking at her wide-eyed, “It’s very kind of you to want me back,” she said, too sweetly, “but I’m going to stay. I’ll manage somehow. So, please be good enough to… shove off!”</p><p>“Oh!” started Irri, before crying into her handkerchief.</p><p>“Very well,” rebuffed Doreah, pulling on her sister, and walking swiftly towards the door, “You’re obviously insane… and I for one want nothing more to do with you. Come, Irri.”</p><p>When the door closed after her sisters-in-law, Daenerys turned ‘round swiftly to smile to her Captain, but he had disappeared.</p><p>***</p><p>Captain Jorah Mormont was no longer in the master bedroom because he was standing at the foot of the grand staircase, on the ground floor, waiting for Daenerys’ blasted in-laws. They had dared to hurt his One and Only and he wanted to… oh… see them out.</p><p>Irri was still crying, and though Doreah was leading the march, she stopped suddenly.</p><p>“It’s too ridiculous!” she exclaimed. “I’m going to give her one more chance. We did not travel to godforsaken Scotland for nought; we need her royal title.”</p><p>Oh no, this was not going to happen! Jorah tricked Irri to step on Doreah’s dress, making both of them trip down the last few steps while he stood out of their way.</p><p>“Stop pulling me, Irri.”</p><p>“I’m not pulling you, Doreah.”</p><p>Yet, some invisible force did shove one towards the other.</p><p>“Stop it, I say!”</p><p>“I’m not touching you, Doreah.”</p><p>Exasperated, the Captain made the head of the mounted bear on the wall come alive and growl at the two harpies. To great effect. Doreah and Irri proceeded to shriek—making the Captain wince—and they ran out of the house, leaving Jorah to pat the bear down.</p><p>“There, there, all’s well, laddie… We shall never see their likes again.”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>A few days after Doreah and Irri’s shocking visit, Daenerys came home in much brighter spirits.</p><p>“Voilà!” she exclaimed, setting a brand new invention on her desk.</p><p>“What in Hades’ name is that, madam?” Jorah exclaimed, hands on his hips, looking down on that thing!</p><p>“A type-writer.”</p><p>“And what does it do exactly?”</p><p>“It’ll enable me to write faster.”</p><p>“But why should you want to do that?”</p><p>Jorah could not have looked more appalled.</p><p>“Captain…” Daenerys was trying not to laugh.</p><p>“I mean, truly, madam. What could be more beautiful than you, writing leisurely, with your fountain pen or, better yet, with a quail and ink bottle, in your lovely, lovely diaries,” Jorah exclaimed, followed by Daenerys’ glance, amused and surprised at seeing her Captain praising, with such effusion, her writing habits while picking up her diaries, showing them to her, and caressing their textured and flowery designs.</p><p>“Do you aim to replace beauty with… modernity?” he added.</p><p>At that, Daenerys couldn’t help but laugh out loud.</p><p>“O Captain!” She sighed and smiled. “Unless you wish me to search for lodgers to pay for rent?”</p><p>“Lodgers?” Jorah exclaimed. “They’re worse than passengers at sea.”</p><p>“Agreed!” interjected Daenerys, sitting in front of her new acquisition. “And it was them or starve, until I found the way to solve all our problems.”</p><p>Jorah was not registering. Daenerys groaned.</p><p>“We’re going to write a book,” she stated with satisfied finality.</p><p>“A book?”</p><p>“A book!”</p><p>“But, madam, I couldn’t. I found it hard enough to write postcards to my sweethearts.”</p><p>“Oh. Them.”</p><p>Jorah smirked and Daenerys rolled her eyes.</p><p>“Captain Mormont, I know for a fact that you do know how to write. I happened upon your travelogues… and a few poems—hidden in your journals, and your olfactory laboratory.”</p><p>“Oh. You did, did you?” Jorah asked, squinting his eyes, and lowering his tall frame to Daenerys.</p><p>“Yes,” she affirmed, trying not to get flustered by her Captain’s proximity. “And besides, I know how to write too. And we shall publish… the story of your life!”</p><p>“Oh! Seven Hells!” Jorah exclaimed, pulling back, “and call it what? Blood and Swash?”</p><p>“Why yes! Blood and Swash by Captain X.”</p><p>“I don’t think that’s at all a proper title, madam.”</p><p>Clearly concerned, Jorah was walking back and forth now, in front of the bow window and the desk, which Daenerys had moved in the centre of the room.</p><p>“It’s not meant to be. It’s meant to be sensational, like the subject,” Daenerys explained.</p><p>“And what, pray tell, do you know about the sea?”</p><p>“I don’t know much about the sea yet, Captain,” Daenerys tried to explain, more softly, while joining him and leading him to the telescope, “beyond what your lovely books taught me, except… that it is romantic.”</p><p>She was leaning on the frilly curtains of their bow window, her head tilted and looking up at him with a dreamy expression. For the umpteenth time, the Captain thought to himself he must be in heaven, and he must be in hell. For the pleasure to look at her, and for the agony of not being able to kiss her.</p><p>“Mmm…” he resolved to say, playacting irritation, “that’s what all landsmen think. Seamen know better.”</p><p>“Then why do they go to sea?” she asked, trying not to mock him.</p><p>“Because they haven’t the sense to stay ashore. Heaven help the ordinary seaman.”</p><p>Jorah’s voice was so soft suddenly, Daenerys had to smile. What was she seeing in his eyes? That he would not have volunteered for long journeys, had they been lovers? That he would have asked for the longest seashore leaves? And coming home, ravished her the moment he crossed the threshold, and would have kept her in bed for days on end?</p><p>Yes, it’s what her Captain’s eyes were telling her, slipping to her lips, while towering over her, and leaning in. Daenerys lost herself in Jorah’s eyes—until she found her voice again.</p><p>“Were you ever one? A seaman?” she asked, sitting on the bow window’s seat to find her strength back… and impose some distance between she and her Captain.</p><p>“For several years, while I learnt my trade,” Jorah said, pulling the words forcibly out of his mouth. Why couldn’t he be near Daenerys without wanting her so?</p><p>“It’s hard to imagine you being an ordinary anything.” And how Daenerys’ eyes sparkled, saying those words!</p><p>Jorah found himself smitten by Daenerys’ compliment, and by her smile even more. Oh, he was lost. He knew it. Yet he objected still: “But it takes months to write a book. And we need to find a way for you to live on in the meantime.”</p><p>“I have jewelry? A little. I could pawn a few mementoes.”</p><p>“Madam, I cannot abide you selling your earthly treasures!” Jorah erupted, his pride clearly affected, in a strange oblique way.</p><p>“Blast it, Captain!” Daenerys parred, shocking Jorah in the process.</p><p>Valyrians were said to have fire in their blood and, from time to time, Daenerys certainly let it be known she had a dragon in hers.</p><p>“Will you understand?” she added, using his language, “I’m trying to crawl off a lee shore! Can’t afford to be squeamish! Seven Hells!”</p><p>Maybe Daenerys should stay clear of his books, Jorah thought. Yet, out loud, he was more diplomatic: “I do understand, my dear. You don’t need to swear at me.”</p><p>“Oh…” Daenerys blushed, and then finding her composure, “I could start with that ugly broach which Drogo’s sisters gave me. I only wear it to hold up my lace… and protect my modesty.”</p><p>“Well, if you’re going to put it like <em>that</em>,” Jorah smiled, “by all means, pawn it.”</p><p>I see, thought Daenerys, giving the Captain a look. Then, she smiled and shook her head, before speaking honestly.</p><p>“So, will you be sensible about my offer?”</p><p>“You mean, you and I, writing the story of my life?”</p><p>“Yes, your sea adventures, Captain!” Daenerys exclaimed with relish.</p><p>Oh Gods, was he going to regret this?</p><p>“On one condition,” Jorah declared. “If we are to become collaborators… you should call me Jorah.”</p><p>“That’s… that’s very good of you,” Daenerys answered, trying to hide the flush from her cheeks.</p><p>“And I shall call you… Khaleesi.”</p><p>“Khaleesi? You know very well my name is Daenerys. Dany for short.”</p><p>“It doesn’t do you justice, my dear. Women named Dany are always being imposed upon… but Khaleesi, now there’s a name for an Amazon… for a Queen!” Jorah exclaimed, before adding, more softly, “which you should have been…” and even softer, looking deep in her eyes, “and which you are.”</p><p>Oh! Blushing again, Daenerys looked away and murmured her confession.</p><p>“I don’t feel much like a queen. I mean, not since Doreah and Irri’s visit. To tell you the truth, Captain, I feel frightened and confused and wondering what the future will bring.”</p><p>“Don’t you trust me?”</p><p>Oh! When he used his deep velvet voice!</p><p>“I do, of course I do… Jorah.”</p><p>It was so very thrilling and soft as wool to call the Captain by his first name. And it pleased him, she could tell. Yet, she lowered her eyes before confessing her doubts.</p><p>“Still… to expect anyone to trust her whole future to a—to someone who isn’t real…”</p><p>“But I am real,” Jorah whispered with conviction, while coming to Daenerys. Crouching down next to her, he looked up into her eyes. “I’m here because you believe I’m here. And keep on believing… and I’ll always be real to you.”</p><p>Daenerys held her breath, looking at this singular, amazing man—illusion or not—who was kneeling in front of her and giving her dominion over his whole existence.</p><p>“You promise, Captain?”</p><p>“I do.”</p><p>But, just then, a reddish sunbeam from the sunset across the bow window flew through Jorah. Right through him! Through his heart!</p><p>Daenerys froze, aghast. “Captain!”</p><p>Of course, his Lady’s fright seized Jorah, but as he saw the sunrays shine through him, enlightening the whole of his body in a myriad of colours, he simply smiled, a bit sadly, before trying to soothe her.</p><p>“Hush, Khaleesi. There is no need for concern. It is merely the moon.”</p><p>Daenerys looked so confused and shocked, beyond the pleasure of hearing Jorah susurrate her nickname, that the Captain knew he must precipitate his explanations. Rising to his feet once more, he tried to do just that.</p><p>“The moon is entering its waning gibbous phase, and I… and I am fading accordingly, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“What?” Daenerys couldn’t help but blurt out, as she shook. She had known Jorah as a solid, manly, true-to-life mass, not a ghostly form, and here he was… he was… disappearing!</p><p>“I… my appearance is somehow linked to the moon phases, you see. I am most like a man when the moon is full, as it was when we first met, and I’m afraid you saw me at my best, or my worst, <em>c’est selon</em>, that first evening. My… my temper and emotions and des—” He almost said desires. “My demeanour,” he corrected himself “tends to be quite raw then. And in the following weeks, I do manage to keep my human exterior.”</p><p>Embarrassed, Jorah looked down. “But as the moon fades away,” he added, looking up once more, rather bashfully, “so does my manly form.”</p><p>“O Captain…” Daenerys was crestfallen. “And where do you go upon the New Moon?”</p><p>“I’m afraid I am then nowhere to be found.”</p><p>“No!”</p><p>“But it is only for a short time, madam!”</p><p>Oh! how shaken Daenerys looked to Jorah.</p><p>He was almost glad for it.</p><p>Yet, he tried to alleviate her state with humour.</p><p>“Khaleesi, I am sure—think on it—that you will be relieved to know me ‘on leave’ one day and night out of the month!” Jorah proposed, a reassuring smile on his lips. “No one to make you stomp your feet in aggravation? And your fingers, free to fly on those keys,” he added, pointing to the type-writer.</p><p>But his argument was not received. Seeing how shaken Daenerys remained, Jorah sobered up and approached her. Kneeling once more, he whispered gently to her, his eyes shining.</p><p>“I shall never leave you, Daenerys. I shall never abandon you. Do you think, for one moment, I will let a moonless night keep me from striking down any fool or foe that would do you harm?”</p><p>Daenerys so wanted to believe Jorah, but she was now seeing through him, and she was afraid. She did not want this reminder of his ghostly nature; she wanted him, whole. She wanted the solid mass of him, the impossible dream of him as a live, human being. She didn’t care if it was but an illusion, she didn’t! In her mind, in her flesh, in her burning, pulsating veins, she knew, she knew Jorah was alive and so, blast it, let the Universe bow to her whim and vision. Captain Jorah Mormont could not, should not look like a ghost! Her emotions threatening to overflow, she chose not to speak, but she shook her head and then looked down, afraid she’d cry if she kept looking at Jorah.</p><p>“Madam, there are… there are advantages to my state.”</p><p>What? She looked up again, already furious at the very notion.</p><p>“Captain, if you tell me you can walk through walls or, or some other type of cheap theatrics, I will, I will, ohhh!”</p><p>How passionate she was! It warmed Jorah’s heart and he couldn’t help laughing softly.</p><p>“No,” he whispered kindly, “here, let me show you.”</p><p>Daenerys was eyeing him suspiciously.</p><p>“Give me your hand.”</p><p>“No! You said, you said…” He had been so adamant the other day, in the orchard.</p><p>“I know. Just reach out to me.”</p><p>Which Daenerys did, her hand extending through the dust, twirling in the sundown… towards Jorah’s hand waiting for hers. He didn’t let Daenerys touch him, but his fingers grazed hers and a noticeable electrical current ran between them, shimmering.</p><p>“When I am in this state, I can… I can almost…” Jorah was trying to explain, his fingers brushing Daenerys. Yes, he could almost touch her! Seeing Daenerys’ eyes widen, amazed, and her lips part, he felt his Adam’s apple rasp in his throat. She could see the phenomenon, as he did. He could almost feel her skin and make her feel him. And, for a few seconds, they both looked at the light dancing between their fingers, entangling without touching, the feeling most pleasurable.</p><p>“I was almost able to hold a bird once,” Jorah whispered, while Daenerys looked upon him with so much emotion and empathy. “Almost,” he repeated, while lowering his hand, his voice but a rumbling shadow of itself.</p><p>“Captain Mormont,” Daenerys whispered in turn, “sometimes… sometimes, possibly because I spend too much time reading or writing or fretting over you,” she smirked, trying to bravely find her humour back, “I get… I get headaches, like my father did, and I think… I think, I would very much like to feel your faerie touch on my temples.”</p><p>There was a lull between them, Daenerys’ words stealing Jorah’s breath away. “I mean, feeling your non-touch,” she added, stuttering, “feeling what—”</p><p>“Right now?” interjected Jorah, surprising Daenerys.</p><p>“Why yes, Captain. Now would be… it would be a splendid time.”</p><p>“So long as it can alleviate some of your discomfort.”</p><p>“Yes. Exactly.”</p><p>What was the expression again? Hiding one’s feelings in plain sight? Yes, the Targaryen and Mormont way…</p><p>Indeed.</p><p>And so, Daenerys followed her Captain as he invited her to sit once more in her favoured armchair. By his translucent reflection on the bow window, she saw the Captain position himself behind her, as she reclined her head towards him.</p><p>“Keep your eyes on the ocean, madam, and the declining rays through our window,” Jorah murmured, next to her ear. And she did.</p><p>Of course, she did, her skin quivering upon Jorah’s touch as he began to graze her forehead and then her temples. Right from the first, she had to close her eyes and hold in a whimper. She could feel the tip of Jorah’s fingers, it seemed to her, but like a caressing shadow wave. It was lulling her… Oh, she knew this feeling! When she was but a wee girl, at school, she would sometimes transfix on her teacher’s handwriting on the blackboard. It was so smooth and elegant. The powdery sound of the chalk on the clean slate, gliding and gliding and gliding. It would hypnotize her. She felt the same kind of sensual pleasure now, as the Captain made his fingers hover next to her skin and then gently through her hair… It made her smile. It made her happy.</p><p>And it made Jorah’s heart constrict in the most excruciating and delectable way this side of Heaven.</p><p>If he had been able to write and perform orchestral music, he would have—right now. Upon Daenerys’ skin. And maybe he did. Could she sense it? His touch, his almost-touch like the sensuous arabesques of a maestro through the air. A continent away, Debussy was composing <em>La Mer</em> right this very minute. What if, what if the French composer was in fact channelling what was being created here, at the Keep, during the sunset, between Jorah’s almost-touch and his Lady’s temples and her silky hair?</p><p>Jorah sighed. It couldn’t be helped; the heady sensation of his lulling Daenerys to him, and her abandon, intoxicating him. How beautiful she was to him, with her head reclining into his care, her eyelashes fluttering, her lips parting. While her eyelids were still closed, he dared lower his face to hers, his nose grazing her skin until their lips almost met. He breathed her breath as she whispered his name. Sighing again, Jorah pulled back slightly and, in doing so, his eyes perused the rest of her offered body. The sea breeze was finding its way to her, blowing upon the fabric of her dress, gliding on her skin and caressing her bosom. Oh! Why did she have to wear her chiffon blouse today? The setting sunrays were alighting its transparency, mocking the ramparts to her modesty. She was sighing now, her breasts heaving suddenly towards his touch… because his fingers had glided on her collarbones and were flirting with the dove-like curves spilling from her corset. He could see the buds of her breasts lifting towards him.</p><p>He had died once. Would he have to again? Because he felt himself falling right now. Falling and falling and falling. Would he ache and soar like this, every day and every night? What sin had he committed to be given such a sentence? What good deed for the Gods to bestow upon him such a gift?</p><p>And would he be forever trapped in between?</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi?</em>
</p><p>Jorah barely recognized his own voice in the whisper rasping its way to Daenerys’ ear.</p><p>“Has your headache left you?”</p><p>She sighed. Daenerys sighed. And Jorah almost died again.</p><p>“If I say yes, will you stop?” she whispered back.</p><p>There was a lull, and then a deep, deep whisper.</p><p>
  <em>No…</em>
</p><p>And then, and then… Daenerys could not, for the life of her, quite remember what unfolded between her Captain and her—except to say she felt herself afloat, and loved, and cherished.</p><p>And the following morning, there was a new kind of smile on her lips.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>For those who'd like to hear what Jorah hears as he caresses Daenerys... here it is. Debussy's 'La Mer':</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOCucJw7iT8&amp;t=115s&amp;ab_channel=IlaryRhineKlange</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The 4-letter word</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When a moonless night brings about the day moon, Daenerys makes a discovery that leads her to inquire about Jorah's past love life... all in the name of art, of course, as the Lady of the Keep and her taciturn Captain have begun writing his biography.</p>
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</p><p> </p><p><strong>THE KEEP - </strong> <strong>CHAPTER 5</strong></p><p> </p><p>“The soup is delicious, Gilly.”</p><p>“Even without the chicken in the chicken broth?”</p><p>Daenerys smiled a bit sadly, looking at her friend from across the kitchen table: “Even without the chicken in the chicken broth, dear.”</p><p>Gilly sighed. They were on a budget and had been for a few months now. Her mistress was writing away, in her chamber, in the hopes of birthing a novel. Clickety-click, clickety-clack! She was using so many ribbons on her type-writer and… and speaking to herself. Gilly was not going to lie, that did worry her, what with the Targaryen family history, but Daenerys looked so happy. A bit thin maybe—<em>I really should try to coax some lard from the butcher, </em>Gilly told herself, <em>and a bit of meat; potatoes were not going to cut it for very long, winter was coming fast</em>—and that fire in her eyes, flushing her cheeks too… Dear Gods, she wasn’t running a fever, was she?</p><p>“I could find work in Whitehall,” Gilly ventured out loud, to stop her worrying.</p><p>“Oh! but Gilly, you work so hard right here! I mean, I’ve been of no help to you at all, what with my writing!”</p><p>“And is that… going well?”</p><p>“Yes, yes it is!” Daenerys answered in earnest, blushing and lowering her eyes. <em>Why was that?</em> wondered Gilly. She would never fully understand her mistress, possibly.</p><p>“Still, Milady, I could inquire at Baratheon, Bolton, &amp; Tarly,” she proposed, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “They might appreciate a weekly cleaning?”</p><p>“Oh well, of course, if we’re talking about Baratheon, Bolton, &amp; <em>Tarly</em>, I’m envisioning a whole different constellation from my sextant, Gilly!” Daenerys smirked, sipping her soup noisily for emphasis.</p><p>Her mistress was speaking more and more in seafaring metaphors and it was driving Gilly batty.</p><p>“Well, Mister Tarly is very kind, I’ll have you know—”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sure he is!”</p><p>“For one thing,” Gilly defended herself, “he never complains when I bring him the rent a few days… or weeks… late.”</p><p>That much was true, Daenerys had to concede. And, of course, she was happy to see her friend so smitten and witness the object of her affections reciprocate. She knew how that felt… and before she could blush again, Daenerys ceased her teasing.</p><p>“I know, my dear,” she smiled sweetly, extending her arm to squeeze Gilly’s hand. “If your heart is set on the notion, why don’t we bundle up and take the carriage to go together? I’ll let you <em>negotiate</em> with Samwell Tarly,”—that made her friend roll her eyes at her—“while I visit… the pawnshop.”</p><p>“Not again?” Gilly cried out. And then noticing Daenerys briefly rubbing her mother’s ring, and looking embarrassed, she whispered, her heart constricting. “Oh no, Milady…”</p><p>“It’s only a ring, Gilly!” Daenerys exclaimed, rising and taking their empty bowls away, to hide how upset she was. “I don’t need a memento to keep my mother alive. In my heart.”</p><p>In her heart, yes, where another ghost was taking more and more space, and making it beat faster and harder… even on moonless nights, when she was alone, and her bed seemed a bit less warm.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>New moon days were very strange. The Keep still felt enchanted to Daenerys, but in a more diffused way. It felt… diaphanous, like the white imprint of the moon in the morning sky. Like the memory of the Captain whom she missed already. But his absence did leave her freer to engage with the world in a more prosaic way… which certainly did not displease Gilly—oh! poor Gilly, whom she left to deal with everyday concerns most of the time!</p><p>It was usually on those days that they pampered the house, cleaning it or redecorating it, adding their personal touch to the Captain’s more nautical inclinations. It made for a lovely mix. On one such day, rounding a narrow corridor on the top floor, which was lined with books (they really were everywhere), she happened to see a sunbeam which should not have been there. It was coming out of the bookshelves! Putting her hand through the light, Daenerys made the dust twirl and she followed the stream to its source: there was a secret door hiding amongst the books! She had never noticed the architectural <em>trompe-l’oeil</em> before but it was slightly ajar today. Mesmerized, Daenerys pulled on the bookshelf and the curved wall opened for her, revealing a compact staircase leading higher up, towards an attic she did not even know existed. Heart thumping, she went up its creaking stairs until she reached… a locked door. There had never been any locked doors before—how thrilling! But no amount of jiggling made the latch open, so…</p><p>Daenerys had to go back down into the office, question Gilly, who wasn’t even sure which attic room she was talking about, and then rummage through drawers in search of something to open that mysterious portal.</p><p>“It’s a door, Princess, just a door,” called out Gilly from the other room.</p><p>“You never know!” Daenerys argued. “And besides, if you insist on calling me some dreamy thing I am not anymore, I don’t know why this door could not be a portal to me!” She had her own set of logic. “Ah! This looks like something!”</p><p>Daenerys had found a brass ring holding rusty old keys. Maybe one of them would—and it did, open the small attic door.</p><p>Right away, the faint smell of pipe tobacco told her the Captain still frequented this room. Except for the undisturbed dust. She hesitated a second before stepping inside, remembering it had been locked, after all… but her curiosity won over. And, besides, she loved this house and its Captain. She would never hurt them.</p><p>Her step was soft as she entered the slanted-roofed office. It was rather dark inside. And so, so still. Like Time was still holding its breath between its walls. There were books here too, a small fireplace, cold now, a writing desk that looked like it came from a ship, a tattered armchair and just one window, opening to the north. It was possibly why the room felt a bit sad to Daenerys. It got no direct sunlight.</p><p>But maybe it enabled Jorah to see the North Star at night, she thought, strangely moved. She walked to the window and looked down. The view gave onto the poppy field, now frozen over before the first snow and, beyond, her beloved orchard. Did Jorah stand here sometimes, looking at her explore the estate?</p><p>She’d rather feel him next to her, in Nature. This attic was so sad. Why was that?</p><p>Turning to the bookshelves, Daenerys was expecting to see more travel journals and logs, and nautical novels, but she was surprised to discover only poetry books; all the Romantics were there, and the works of Shakespeare. She smiled and then her heart turned melancholic: Jorah had indeed built the Keep after a poem… But why hide them here, these books which spoke of the heart, of <em>his</em> heart? She perused some of them, lifting their leather to her cheek and running her finger on the gold of their leaves, and then…</p><p>Then, she noticed a small chest on the writing-table, next to a bottle of ink and a silver pen. The Captain wrote. She knew this because she had researched and read his travelogues with relish. But what did he write here? Surely personal missives. She had found a few poems inserted in his nautical records and apothecary formulas—they were like poems themselves, really. Did he write them here? Did he write… to his paramours? And who had they been, these women who had loved him and whom he had loved? Biting her lip, knowing she was about to truly trespass, Daenerys very slowly reached for the ebony box whose lacquer shined in the half-light. Her fingers touched its cold sheen and just as she was about to open its cover… Gilly’s voice made her start!</p><p>Calling from the third floor, she was telling her Samwell Tarly was here to discuss their new rental arrangement.</p><p>Daenerys hesitated a second but then the tips of her fingers lifted from the slick and secretive box, and she left the room with regret. Forgetting the key on the desk.</p><p>Going down the staircase, Daenerys never heard the door lock itself, twice over. Nor did she see the bookcase close shut. Or notice the attic room… slowly slip from her mind.</p><p>
  
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  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>Though the bow window was partly frozen over, the Captain was looking through his telescope. Daenerys and him had taken up their writing again and he was mimicking enthusiastically the first time he had called “Land, ho!” after a rather long and perilous sea voyage to the West Indies.</p><p>Jorah sometimes got so animated when reminiscing, it gave him the allure of a young man, almost a boy, and Daenerys couldn’t help but smile secretly at what he revealed of himself in this fashion. But, right now, she was transfixed by something else than his words, namely the gold and bronze strands of hair curling at the base of his neck. His locks looked so soft, even though the Captain was once again partly translucent coming back from the new moon.</p><p>Very slowly, she reached for Jorah, her fingers grazing his curls, unbeknownst to him. And she saw, mesmerized, a reddish shimmer trailing her fingers as they hovered about him. It hadn’t been there before, when Jorah had demonstrated his ‘almost-touch’. Was this Valyrian magic?! The red glow of fire, those of the dragons her mother insisted they came from? Daenerys marvelled at the way her fingers trailed Jorah’s translucid curls. Could she caress <em>him</em> the way he did her, when he brushed her temples after a long day of writing?</p><p>“Madam?” Jorah turned to her, his eyes blinking away from the telescope and rising to better look at her. Daenerys had, of course, pulled out her arm quickly, biting her lip, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar.</p><p>“You were saying… Jorah?”</p><p>The Captain just looked at her quizzically, sensing she was using his given name to… distract him. Which her lips always did when she’d call to him more intimately.</p><p>“Silly me,” Daenerys said to answer her own query, “Of course, yes, <em>land, ho!</em>” she exclaimed, escaping down from the bow window platform, and sitting once more at her writing table. “It bears typing up. It’s a keeper. I’m on it.”</p><p>And type she did, very soon laughing, looking appalled or arguing with her subject once he rejoined her.</p><p>Jorah had warmed up to their project and loved to regale Daenerys with his <em>faits d’armes</em>, not because he cared for them himself but, rather, because of the myriad of emotions they roused in Daenerys… his Khaleesi. She was never more beautiful than when she was animated, or blinked in wonder, or raised an eyebrow at him, or smiled, or—Oh! When was she <em>not </em>beautiful?</p><p>And when… when would she let him almost-touch her again?</p><p>*</p><p>“Well, what’s the matter, Captain? You don’t approve? You were the one who told me I’d be <em>shocked</em> were you to tell me of your gallant adventures.”</p><p>Outside, the first wintery storm was raging, just in time for the Holiday Season… and quite in tune with the intensity of the sparring match between the two writers inside. And the fire roaring in the fireplace.</p><p>Though Jorah was in love, unequivocally in love, desperately in love, and dying <em>every day</em> of desire, he couldn’t help but frown when he read the shocking four-letter word Daenerys had just typed, his tall figure bending over her shoulder.</p><p>“Blast it! It’s—It’s that word. Should you write such a word?”</p><p>“It’s a perfectly good word,” Daenerys smirked, playing the daring intellectual.</p><p>“I think it’s a compromising word.”</p><p>“It means what it says, doesn’t it?” Daenerys insisted, her subtle smile giving her lips a plumpness the Captain would have bitten, had he been allowed.</p><p>“All too clearly,” Jorah scowled.</p><p>“Well what word do you use if you want to convey that meaning?” Daenerys <em>was</em> trying to be patient.</p><p>“I don’t use any! I just…” Jorah waved his hands, trying to get Daenerys to guess his meaning.</p><p>“Do the deed, Captain?” Oh, Jorah looked quite trapped.</p><p>In fact, he was in shock; he was! <em>Were they truly having this conversation</em>?</p><p>“Well, Seven Hells, Captain!” Daenerys erupted, using his language, “If you’re going to be prudish, we’ll never get the book written.”</p><p>“Madam, I don’t feel comfortable with you putting that word in my mouth.”</p><p>“That word? That four-letter word?”</p><p>“Yes!”</p><p>Suspense hung in the air, and then… Daenerys just blurted it out.</p><p>
  <em>“Love!?”</em>
</p><p>There, she said it.</p><p>“The word ‘love’ puts you ill at ease?” she insisted. “Jorah!”</p><p>The Captain knew he looked a fool but, shaking his head and moving his jaw, he remained adamant. He once more simply waved his hand in the air to somehow communicate his embarrassed stand.</p><p>“Well,” Daenerys huffed, as to a stubborn child, “would you rather I write <em>another</em> four-letter word, Captain?”</p><p>And she did. Type that <em>other</em> four-letter word. <em>Clack-clack-clack-clack</em>: Jorah blanching with every strike of the keys.</p><p>“My Lady, such language!”</p><p>“Oh! blast it all, Captain! How do you propose we write about you finishing your dram of rum and following that wench up the stairs, in Marseille’s most famous brothel?!”</p><p>“But I never said I followed her! I was just 16!”</p><p>“Captain!” Daenerys could not refrain from glaring at Jorah, with such exasperation, it made him pinch his nose, and then groan, eyes closed.</p><p>“No one wants to read about these kinds of exploits, madam…”</p><p>“Oh! Don’t they?” Daenerys laughed out loud.</p><p>He answered by bending down to her and cornering her, his hands on her armchair: “Men want to read about battles and sea adventures!”</p><p>“And women want to read about other kinds of conquests!” Daenerys exploded, a few centimetres away from her Captain’s face. “They want to read about <em>love</em>, Jorah, and be able to imagine their strong golden captain in the throes of passion!”</p><p>He blinked. She was serious.</p><p>“They do?” Jorah almost whimpered.</p><p>“Yes,” Daenerys smirked, turning once more to her type-writer, and whooshing away Jorah who came to stand behind her. “They most certainly do.”</p><p>With caution, Jorah bent over his torturer’s shoulder to read what she was now typing.</p><p>
  <em>Oh dear Gods…</em>
</p><p>He opened his mouth again, to protest, but, feeling him about to do just that, Daenerys cut him short.</p><p>“Captain, this is non-negotiable. I am putting it down the way I gave it to you. It’s the unvarnished story of a seaman’s life.”</p><p>“It certainly is unvarnished!” Jorah grumbled.</p><p>“Well, I’ll smear on a bit of varnish and mind the grammar—”</p><p>“Yes, please do.”</p><p>“But I’ll leave the amorous bits in.”</p><p>Jorah had to take a deep breath to keep quiet! He was fuming behind Daenerys… until she slowed the pace of her typing.</p><p>“Of course,” she declared, almost as an afterthought, “you must have been very young and foolish, to do such a thing.”</p><p>Jorah was dumbstruck at Daenerys’ train of thought.</p><p>“But I did <em>nothing</em>! You, madam, have <em>invented</em> that whole episode!” He was beside himself, and she was strangely calm.</p><p>“Yes, you were young,” Daenerys continued, thinking out loud and not bothering at all with Jorah. “You were young, but never foolish. Inexperienced, perhaps…”</p><p>Incredulous, Jorah walked back in front of Daenerys’ writing desk, putting his hands on his hips, and ready to confront her once more.</p><p>“Curious,” she added, “as young men are, eager for adventure. Yet, with a heart of gold,” she nuanced, locking eyes with Jorah, “and with a chivalrous nature, begging to find an outlet.”</p><p>She could tell the Captain was now warming up to her vision of him, because she was making him smile, against his better judgement, though he shook his head. She lowered her voice next and, resting her chin in her hand, she let her tone take on a dreamy quality. And when it did, Jorah just softened all over, the snowstorm behind him turning into a gentle ballet.</p><p>“Yes, a knight in the making longing to unlock love’s secrets. Be it in the arms of a beautiful brunette who, never in all her young career, found a more attentive and grateful young man… to deflower.”</p><p>Jorah sighed and laughed silently, nonetheless looking away for a second, to hide his embarrassment. “Khaleesi, I give up.”</p><p>“As you should, Captain,” Daenerys declared with a lofty voice before laughing sweetly. “Come, tell me now how you <em>matured early</em>.” And once more, she couldn’t help her words sounding sultry, making Jorah groan. But she only smiled, and again beckoned to him.</p><p>“I wish I’d known you then,” she said, honestly.</p><p>Sighing, Jorah thought the same, in silence, but he chose a less dangerous course of answer.</p><p>“It was my first voyage.”</p><p>“I suppose you’d run away from home.”</p><p>“Aye. I was an orphan, you see. Or, rather, I felt like one, when my father became a hermit after my mother’s death.”</p><p>The news shocked Daenerys, and her hand instinctively went to touch her own mother’s ring… alas, now absent from her finger. The Captain did not notice the gesture but caught Daenerys’ saddened expression. He willed back a lightness to his tone then, to reassure her. It was such a long, long time ago.</p><p>“I was brought up by one of my formidable aunts, right here, in Whitecliff. You would have liked her!… I lacked for nought, Khaleesi. Now,” he changed tone “let’s get on with it.”</p><p>“But Jorah, don’t you think it would be nice to include a chapter about your early life… your school days.”</p><p>At that, Jorah looked slightly disgusted.</p><p>“I never went to school. I was educated by the vicar.”</p><p>“Poor man. He must have had a dreadful time,” Daenerys sighed, in jest.</p><p>“He enjoyed every minute of it…” Jorah smirked, bending down to her, “except for the time I put a snake in his bed.”</p><p>“You must have been a horrid little boy,” she laughed.</p><p>“My mother didn’t think so!” he protested, looking a bit ruffled.</p><p>“Of course not,” Daenerys whispered, taking on her dreamy tone again, “not when she could run her fingers through your unruly curls.”</p><p>Jorah kept still, amazed at Daenerys having imagined these interludes, which did occur when he was but a wee lad, and which he treasured. And he watched, with curious attention, as his Lady left her desk to approach him. Outside, the wind made the snowflakes tinkle on the bow window. Jorah could hear them in the silence of the room as he watched his Lady walk slowly towards him.</p><p>“Yes, how could she resist?” Daenerys whispered, stopping next to him, and cocking her head, as she raised her hand to the nape of his neck.</p><p>“Madam, beware…”</p><p>“Shhhh Jorah—let me.”</p><p>And Jorah did. Let her. While he held his breath, looking into Daenerys’ face, seeing her violet eyes glide on his wavy hair and then… and then, feeling, <em>yes</em>, feeling her fingers twirl in the shimmering transparency above his curls.</p><p>“Khaleesi…” he could not help whisper, entranced.</p><p>Daenerys beamed at him, looking once more into his eyes, while lifting her other arm, for it to frolic too at the base of his neck. They looked to be an embracing couple with Daenerys’ caress making Jorah bend his face down to hers.</p><p>“I suppose <em>you </em>were a model of all virtues when you were but a child?” Jorah whispered, taking up their conversation again, to keep his countenance.</p><p>“Certainly, I was,” Daenerys whispered back. “I won a prize for deportment at school.”</p><p>“Hmm. I can see you,” he smiled, roguishly, “Regal little girl in hair ribbons.”</p><p>“I wasn’t regal. I was shy,” she affirmed, piqued, and lowering her arms. Yet not moving from the Captain’s orbit.</p><p>“Just as bad,” he tried to conclude.</p><p>“And I wore my hair in braids. And I had a thousand freckles,” she boasted.</p><p>“You still have freckles.” It was Jorah’s turn to lift one hand to peruse the contours of Daenerys’ face, alighting the porcelain of her skin with his blueish shimmer, while his other hand hovered over the small of her back, the tingling there pushing her core to his. “And smell of <em>piquant </em>strawberries,” he added bending closer to her neck.</p><p>Oh! How the wind sang outside while the fireplace purred inside.</p><p>“That would be the pepper I added to one of your wee scent bottles,” Daenerys whispered very softly, the proximity of her Captain paralyzing her with fear… and delight.</p><p><em>Mmm…</em> Jorah hummed almost absent-mindedly, still skirting her features, his gruff so close and his lips too!</p><p>“As to the freckles,” Daenerys continued, trying very hard to find her composure again, “there are only seven of them and I’m told they’re most becoming.”</p><p>“Aye. They are at that,” Jorah concurred, pulling back. But his voice had dropped an octave, making her melt.</p><p>How many times would the gravitas of his tone find its way to the secret of her? At night, she could close her eyes and feel its memory alight her! But she was not dreaming now. Her Captain was standing right there, his arm pulling her to him: she could feel it.</p><p>And so, here they were, poised on the brink of danger, and not for the first time.</p><p>If he had been a man, right now—Jorah swore internally—he would have ravished her! He would have devoured her! He would have kissed her and crushed her to him, propriety be damned. Jorah could feel his ghostly blood course through his veins, and he could see Daenerys losing her own sense of reason, her pupils dilating, her breath coming short.</p><p>Were they going to risk it all?</p><p>Dear Gods…</p><p>They were, weren’t they? And what, pray tell, could interrupt them, this time?</p><p><em>Ding-Ding, Ding-Ding, Ding-Ding.</em> </p><p>Of course: Time itself!</p><p>“Good heavens! Midnight!” Daenerys exclaimed, pulling away, as if the chiming of the clock had brought her back to her senses. “I—I had no idea it was so late.”</p><p>“Yes,” Jorah rasped, pulling back and racking his beard to shake himself from his trance. What was he thinking? He knew better than to play with fire. “You had better be getting some sleep,” he whispered painfully. “There is much for you to do before Christmas, I presume.”</p><p>“Yes,” Daenerys whispered, one hand holding on to her writing-table, for support. “And you will spend it with me, won’t you?”</p><p>“Of course, madam.” Oh! He would unhook Bethlehem’s star from the skies, and lay it at her feet, if somehow, it would magically enable them to be together for just one night.</p><p>Yet, right now, the Captain was pulling back further still, receding into the shadows of the master bedroom as he dimmed the lights around them and the glow of the fire. But he stopped when Daenerys spoke again. She seemed unable to let him go—not completely.</p><p>“Jorah, what did your aunt do when you ran away to sea?”</p><p>Her voice was so soft and her demeanour so sad while her left hand rubbed the fingers of her right hand, compulsively. It pained Jorah to see his Khaleesi in such a state of distress. Therefore, of course, he had to humour her.</p><p>“Oh,” he answered wistfully, “she probably thanked heaven there was no one around to fill her house with mongrel puppies and track mud on her carpets. I was not the angel I had been with my own mother.”</p><p>He was trying to make Daenerys smile, but to no avail.</p><p>“Did she write to you?”</p><p>“Every Sunday for seven years. I was at sea when she died. It was the year I got my mate’s ticket—What are you thinking about, Khaleesi?”</p><p>She looked up at him then, sweetly, still rubbing her fingers. It was as if… It was as if she was reliving some mourning which did not belong to her. How could he know she was mourning the moment when they’d be done with their writing, with their sharing, with them becoming one, in their own special way?</p><p>Outside, the wind howled painfully.</p><p>“I’m thinking,” Daenerys whispered, “how lonely she must have felt with her clean carpets…”</p><p><em>Seven Hells</em>, Daenerys was breaking his heart. Jorah almost crossed the distance between them, just then, to sweep her off her feet and kiss that sadness away. But he didn’t.</p><p>He couldn’t.</p><p>“Good night, Jorah,” his Lady whispered, to free him, finally.</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah bowed and, just before dematerializing, he saw it. He saw what he should have noticed from the first. The ring Daenerys always wore, her mother’s ring, was nowhere to be found on her hand. It had vanished. He meant to say something but wasn’t quick enough, and the night swallowed him.</p><p>As the Captain disappeared, Daenerys simply sighed. She could have slipped into more melancholia, but she didn’t. She turned her eyes to the glow of the wintery moon outside. A gentle wind was now blowing the powdery snow from her windowsills. What beauty the ghost she loved gifted her. Daenerys smiled and began to unbutton her chemise absentmindedly, turning to her bed, Jorah’s magnificent bed. She couldn’t wait to slip between its warm linens.</p><p>It was, every time, as if he took her in his arms.</p><p>Almost.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Ghost of Christmas</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Nearing Christmas, Daenerys takes advantage of a cosy moment of intimacy between she and her Captain to put to rest the mystery of The Keep: for whom did Jorah built it and carved the amazing bed she sleeps in? ...And what became of her?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>An earlier version of this chapter was published as part of our 2020 Holiday event. It has since been reedited... and expanded to make rereading it truly worthwhile. Hope you enjoy it! And my thanks must go once more to Salzrand who so graciously provided me with ART xxx</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p><strong>THE KEEP - </strong> <strong>CHAPTER 6</strong></p><p> </p><p>The sunshine was twinkling on the snow covering the front lawn of Keep Cottage, the light chasing the melancholia of night away. The mood had been bittersweet between Daenerys and her Captain every time he had bid her goodnight, wishing it was his arms she could rejoin and not his empty bed, be it as warm as he could make it for her… But, today was a new day, and how glorious it looked! Christmas season was upon them and rejoicing was in the air. All bundled up in Skye blue wool, her delicate features framed inside a white fur cap, Daenerys was tying up Christmas decorations on the veranda’s balustrade.</p><p>“Is winter to your liking, madam?” Jorah asked, breathing in the crisp morning air.</p><p>“Oh yes, Captain!”</p><p>“Not too much snow? I could cut down a notch.”</p><p>Daenerys smirked sweetly at Jorah’s invested tone. As a ghost given powers to affect the weather, and nature, and a few other earthly delights, he took his role as season designer quite seriously.</p><p>“Oh no! It’s perfect! It might surprise you—it surprises <em>me</em>—but I love the snow! There was never much of it in London. Winters are just grey and wet and sooty there. But at The Keep, Captain, it is simply… perfect!” Daenerys’ eyes were sparkling into Jorah’s on that last word, and it made him smile bashfully. “Here, hold this,” she continued, handing him a long wreath made of mistletoe. “Can you fix it to the arch? We’ll twirl it ‘round the column.”</p><p>Daenerys had no clue how this scene would play out if a stranger happened on them right now. Would they see a wreath float up in the air all by itself? Did she care? Not in the least. She was happy, and her tall Captain was smiling, his blue eyes mischievous as he did her bidding. Daenerys sighed internally, seeing Jorah hold up the greenery. Wasn’t it tradition to kiss under the mistletoe? Jorah was once more becoming more solid again, now that the moon was in its waxing gibbous phase, and it always made her want to run her hands over his broad chest and shoulders. And if she stood on tip-toe right now, maybe she’d reach his lips and, what if instead of precipitating the end of her, it made all the snow melt around them? She felt strangely giddy at the thought, and then…</p><p>“Oh Captain, your scarf!”</p><p>Though Jorah never parted with his dark seaman’s garb which, on any man, would have been too warm for summer and too light for winter, it suited him just fine as he, alas, did not feel the weather. But he had taken to wearing a scarf recently, the same blue as her own winter clothes. It was coming undone presently and Daenerys lifted her hands to tie it anew… without touching his flesh.</p><p>“Wouldn’t want you to catch a cold,” she whispered, teasingly.</p><p>“Heavens no, we wouldn’t want that,” he answered, rumbling just as teasingly.</p><p>How docile Jorah was this morning! He was clearly enjoying himself.</p><p>Just then, they both heard a motor car coughing its way up the road. Gilly was coming back from Whitecliff on her weekly turn working in Samwell Tarly’s office. It looked to be him, driving her home, and he was possibly marvelling at how well maintained the way to Keep Cottage was, regardless of the tall banks of snow piling up on each side of the road.</p><p>“What a horrid contraption!” Jorah remarked, gazing at the car <em>tuf-tuffing</em> its way inside the estate.</p><p>“Captain, would you have preferred Gilly made the journey in snowshoes?” Daenerys inquired, ironically.</p><p>“No!” Jorah huffed. And then more gently: “But a sleigh ride would have been more… romantic.”</p><p>“Why Captain, I do declare, I soon won’t be able to tell you apart from a flower shop girl.”</p><p>That made Jorah guffaw, a velvety deep-set laugh, as he kept his eyes on Samwell, helping Gilly out of what he considered the young man’s ‘modern atrocity.’</p><p>The Captain’s baritone laughter was a thing of beauty to Daenerys. It warmed her heart, especially as she knew of its rarity.  She glanced at Jorah, for a second, admiring his profile and smiling at the ice peppering his beard ‘round his mouth. When he noticed her looking up at him, he smiled tenderly and came to stand closer to her.</p><p>Though Jorah had told Daenerys he would remain in the master bedroom when they first agreed on the haunting terms of his contract, she found out very quickly that he couldn’t stay away for very long stretches of time. Away from her, that is. She’d find him next to her when her daily routine kept her from the company of men. Well, not men per se, but Gilly, essentially, as Daenerys and she led a quiet life; even with Samwell Tarly’s sporadic visits to make sure they were faring well. At first, Jorah had made it rain every time he saw the rental agent’s motor car come down Lighthouse Road—<em>pesky visitor!</em>—but when he noticed Samwell’s interest in Gilly, well… he rather relished the added privacy it afforded Daenerys and him, him and the new Lady of Keep Cottage.</p><p><em>The only Lady the cottage had ever known?</em> Daenerys, wondered, still lost in thought. Jorah’s recent past was still a mystery to her, and she meant to find out more. There were so few chapters left for them to write in his biography and there were still a few secrets she hoped to uncover about her dashing subject.</p><p>“Oh, what now?” exclaimed Jorah. “Are they arguing? I thought they were sweethearts.”</p><p>Daenerys had to smirk at <em>that </em>retort. But she refrained from stating the obvious about their own relationship. Instead…</p><p>“Well, Captain, if dreadful accidents stopped befalling poor Mr Tarly every time he set foot inside Keep Cottage, maybe he wouldn’t be so reluctant to accompany Gilly to the front door.”</p><p>Piqued, Jorah simply scoffed.</p><p>“Just make sure he makes it back to Whitecliff in one piece, will you?” Daenerys asked, cocking her head with a knowing look.</p><p>“Are you ordering me to <em>depart</em>, madam?” Jorah inquired, falsely hurt.</p><p>“Yes, <em>départez</em>,” Daenerys jested, in make-belief French, “and take care of Gilly’s suitor while I help our amazing cook with her errands.”</p><p>“I <em>am</em> going, but not because you’ve ordered me, madam. I happen to have business needing my attention in Whitecliff.”</p><p><em>Well, that was impossible!</em> thought Daenerys. She was about to ironically remark on it when Jorah simply vanished, not giving her, for once, the last word.</p><p>Gilly was coming up the alley, with a spring in her gait on the neatly tapped snow.</p><p>“Men!” she exclaimed, referring to her spat with Samwell, which she was sure Daenerys had witnessed.</p><p>“I know!” concurred Daenerys, laughing, before walking down the steps to help Gilly with the groceries.</p><p>
  <em>“Woof!”</em>
</p><p>These bags were heavy.</p><p>“I say, Gilly, did you raid the market in Whitecliff?” Daenerys asked, walking after her friend presently pushing the front door and making a bee line for the kitchen. “After robbing a bank?” she added, stunned. They were still short for money. Therefore, how had Gilly…</p><p>“No! I won a raffle at the grocers’! Isn’t it grand?”</p><p>“What?” whispered Daenerys, amazed.</p><p>“And… and mister Tarly gave me a raise Milady,” Gilly added, quite proudly.</p><p>They had reached the kitchen counter to unpack all their bounty, which they were now gazing at with barely contained glee.</p><p>“Gilly, what a Christmas we’ll have!” Daenerys exclaimed, shedding her winter garb.</p><p>There was everything there for a feast! So many savoury goods and, and flour and sugar, chestnuts, cranberries and spices to bake so many sweets, Daenerys would not fit in her winter dresses anymore.</p><p>“And, dear Tarly!” she thought to add, after containing her surprise. “How very considerate of him to have recognized your hard work,” Daenerys stated, so proud of Gilly, before whispering, in a conspiratorial tone: “You know, you can call him Samwell in front of me. I know how it is between you two.”</p><p>“Oh mistress…” Gilly blushed.</p><p>“And isn’t it high time, my dear, that you start calling me Daenerys? Aren’t we friends, you and I? It would mean the world to me. It would be the best Christmas present ever!” Daenerys beamed.</p><p>“Oh! no, I know what I am getting you for Christmas… Daenerys.”</p><p>Daenerys was left open-mouthed at the revelation, and then she smiled, squinting her eyes at Gilly, to quiz her silently, all the while relishing the fact that her oldest friend had just granted her, her wish.</p><p>“Gilly, now please…”</p><p>“Hush Your Grace—I mean, Daenerys! You will ruin my Christmas if you try to guess my plans, and worst if you disapprove of them. It won’t put me out, I assure you. It won’t even cost me a penny. And if you go all ‘regal’ on li’tle ol’ me, I shall go on strike, like one of your suffragettes, and let all this food go to waste.”</p><p><em>Oh Gilly! </em>Daenerys couldn’t help but think, with affection. “I see I am no match for you!” she conceded, smiling.</p><p>And then, throwing her arms open, Daenerys once more embraced the vision of their plentiful goods, squealing:</p><p>“<em>All this food</em>, Gilly!”</p><p>And they both laughed.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When they were just about done putting everything away and having started the chicken broth for the stew, with lard and diced carrots, and salt, a leaf of laurel perfuming the whole kitchen, and small fancy onions instead of leaks, Gilly looked at her mistress sideways, biting her lip. There had been something she meant to tell her, before, and she was debating whether she should.</p><p>Daenerys was scrubbing the wooden counter with vigour so the sweets coming wouldn’t taste of onions and Gilly’s eyes fell on her friend’s ringless finger. She reached out to Daenerys.</p><p>“There, let me.”</p><p>“Oh no, it’s fine!”</p><p>But Gilly was holding Daenerys’ hands in hers, and she was rubbing the finger where her mother’s ring had been.</p><p>“It’s still in the window, you know,” she whispered to her. “At the pawnshop,” she added, when Daenerys remained silent.</p><p>“I heard you, Gilly,” Daenerys said, her voice breaking slightly.</p><p>“Couldn’t we go get it?” Gilly exclaimed. “I’m making a bit of money, now. There isn’t anything to spend it on here but food.”</p><p>“Oh, thank you, Gilly... But I wouldn’t dream of taking your wages.”</p><p>And besides, that ring was worth a fortune; they both knew it. The pawning of it had secured their living for these past weeks, and would again, for a few months to come. It was no surprise it was still in the store’s window.</p><p>“But…” Gilly dared insist, her voice barely above a whisper, and her eyes, trying to lock on Daenerys’ who kept hers on their entangled hands, “Christmas is upon us, Daenerys, and someone might… They might… Be looking for a gift, and what a gift that ri—”</p><p>“Gilly!” Daenerys exclaimed, finally lifting her eyes to her. Her mouth was quivering, and her eyes misting over, but she was putting on a brave new smile. “Please.”</p><p>“Of course,” Gilly smiled sadly in turn, letting go of her friend. She shouldn’t have mentioned the ring. Trying to make amends, she gently lifted her hands to Daenerys’ full apron and, after a soft look into her Lady’s eyes, she devested her of the soiled garment to turn her ‘round and walk her out of the kitchen.</p><p>“Well then,” she declared, her hands pushing Daenerys’ shoulders, “I know what you should do to get back what is yours, madam!”</p><p>For a second, Gilly almost sounded like the Captain.</p><p>“My ring, Gilly?”</p><p>“Your ring… and your smile, yes!” she exclaimed. “<em>You… go… write!</em> You march up those staircases, Daenerys Targaryen! You lock yourself in that room of yours; you go argue with your Captain—”</p><p>At that, Daenerys swung ‘round, to face Gilly, simply gobsmacked!</p><p>“You don’t think I can hear you?” Gilly countered. “Sometimes, I think I can hear <em>him</em>… And there are two armchairs now facing the fireplace. Did you think I would not notice <em>that</em>?”</p><p>Daenerys blanched and then turned a bright pink. But Gilly only shook her head, smiling with such empathy.</p><p>“It makes you <em>happy</em>, my dear, <em>all of it!</em>”</p><p>Yes, the writing, the imagining, the flights of fancy, her romantic seclusion, all of it.</p><p>“And, so, Daenerys… Do you know how very, <em>very</em> happy that makes <em>me</em>?”</p><p>“Oh Gilly!” Daenerys blurted out, hugging her friend and finally shedding the tears she had kept aloft.</p><p>“You go finish that novel,” Gilly repeated, hugging Daenerys back, “so you can sell it… and make us rich!” she concluded in jest, shooing her friend away.</p><p>Daenerys obeyed but, just as she was about to go up, she paused at the foot of the grand staircase. Just to smile at Gilly. And then, picking up the hem of her dress, she ran! She flew up those stairs towards her destiny.</p><p>
  
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</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys swung the door to her bedroom open, she was just in time to see Jorah untie his blue scarf and brush off the snow from his shoulders and his copper curls. How strange and wonderful that the real world should impact his being more and more… But Daenerys didn’t wonder long because, oh! how her Captain was beaming at her from his favourite position, next to the telescope in the bow window. She couldn’t resist his smile, especially not when the sunshine gave him such a glow.</p><p>He looked so happy, she couldn’t risk his displeasure by probing the time just before his death, to close off the book, so she made him talk of his childhood, and some of the mischief he had surely been up to in Christmas’ past. It made for a heartwarming chapter.</p><p>When it got to be tea time, and snow began to fall in the blue of the coming night, the mood shifted in the room. Daenerys was sipping her Lapsang Souchong—a true winter’s tea, ‘warm as a shot of peated scotch,’ Jorah had once declared, so proud of Daenerys’ sturdy taste—and she was presently looking at him stoking the logs in their fireplace. She could almost not see through him this evening. He was coming back to her, nearing the full moon, when he’d look most like a real-live man… to make her suffer even more acutely.</p><p>“Jorah?”</p><p>“Yes, Khaleesi,” he answered, turning to her.</p><p>It always made her melt when he’d call her thus.</p><p>“Why did you make Keep Cottage so grand and your bed so deliciously ample?”</p><p>She had her dreamy, far-away voice, the one he could never resist. Yet he remained silent.</p><p>“It was surely not to live in it alone,” she added.</p><p>And it had finally come. This moment, this question, which they both knew would come.</p><p>But why did it have to be now? wondered Jorah. Now, with the amber of the flames casting his Lady in an unearthly light, a light flickering upon the white wool of her formfitting dress, casting shadows under the swell of her bosom and inside the secret of her Venus mound? A light layering its orange slivers all along the elegant slant of her legs, hiding from his eyes, under her long, long skirt resting at an angle from her armchair. A light licking its way up, up over the pristine purity of her skin, over her low-cut décolletage, until it was reaching her eyes, aglow with so many promises?</p><p>“You had to be in love, Captain,” Daenerys stated simply, generously.</p><p>And then, lifting her arm to him, she beckoned. “Come, come tell me of her.”</p><p>And, for the first time since knowing each other, they spoke without sparring; gently, from beginning to end. As though nothing, <em>nothing</em> in the world could ever come between them that was not finally, and forevermore, out in the open.</p><p>“She… was a vision. A dream to behold,” Jorah confessed in his dulcet tones.</p><p><em>Of course, she was</em>… <em>She would have to be to steal such a man’s heart</em>, thought Daenerys. She closed her eyes, for just a second, just to keep the hurt at bay before opening her heart. Because there was another, suffering so much more than she. And she <em>loved</em> this sufferer. She loved Jorah, so profoundly.</p><p>“The first time I saw her…”</p><p>His voice broke, and he had to start anew, stealing a glance towards Daenerys before turning his gaze back to the fireplace.</p><p>“The first time I saw her… I thought <em>grace</em>, as a word and a world, had surely been invented for her.”</p><p>How bashful he looked to Daenerys, sitting across from her, his body hung forward, one of his arms crossing his chest, with his hand open upon his breast, as if cupping his heart. He was looking directly into the flames, and his golden locks and beard were <em>aflamed</em>. She could see the lines at the corner of his eyes deepen as he squinted to look back, so very far maybe, and certainly very deep.</p><p>“It was summer and she was wearing a large-brimmed hat and the wind, the wind kept,” he gestured with his hand, smiling softly at the recollection, “blowing ribbons in her eyes, and so she took it off, her hat, and she looked at me and…”</p><p>“You were lost.”</p><p>“Aye…” he breathed, once more daring to look at Daenerys, and her sweet visage, before looking away again.</p><p>“You guessed it yourself, I designed this house for her. Keep Cottage… <em>for her to keep</em>, you see?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh!</em>
</p><p>Oh! She did see, her heart constricting. Those were the exact words that came to<em>her</em> mind when she saw the estate. But she nodded bravely to Jorah for him to, please, continue.</p><p>“I made sure there would be nooks and crannies, and secret doors, and hidden attics for her to explore.”</p><p><em>A hidden attic, </em>this somehow reminded Daenerys of something. Something just out of her mind’s reach… But, oh! how so very much like her this woman had been. It pleased Daenerys before chagrining her; the dolorous irony of their twining sinking in. Had she known Jorah before… But she couldn’t let herself <em>go there</em>. </p><p>“And I thought,” Jorah continued to explain, “that there should be many rooms for her books. Like little libraries…”</p><p>“One for each season?” Daenerys asked, with a tiny voice, unable, suddenly, to keep the hurt at bay.</p><p>“Why, yes, exactly!” Jorah fused, caught up in his description, and not seeing Daenerys bow down her head.</p><p>“And you’ve noticed the windows, so many of them, because she’d want the sea breeze to run through the house. And I made the staircases round, like her lovely figure. And I softened so many angles because, again, I wanted the house to be, to be like her: <em>feminine</em>. An ode to my Love,” he insisted, daring a look towards Daenerys. “I thought every room should sing to her and of her. And I made the architect add the Widow’s Walk, where you so like to have your tea and gaze at the sunset, for her to search the horizon…”</p><p>“… and long for your return,” Daenerys completed, looking up at Jorah. It wasn’t a question; it was a statement. Because of course, it’s what she would have done. <em>Every day.</em></p><p>
  <em>Oh Jorah!</em>
</p><p>“Rather presumptuous of me, I’m afraid,” he blushed, too shy to look at Daenerys and therefore failing to see her melancholic look. “But the kitchen. You’ve seen how it’s bright and expansive. Well, it had to be for us to try the recipes I’d bring back from my voyages, and make sure there would always be something cooking there that would smell good and comforting… The way it is today, Daenerys,” Jorah thought to add, kindly, and yet again searching her face.</p><p>“Yes,” Daenerys murmured, but reclining back into the shadows, “Gilly and I are preparing a Christmas feast.”</p><p>Even she, did not hear the last of her sentence.</p><p>“The house was ready, just in time. Just before… the wedding.”</p><p>“Oh!?”</p><p><em>Oh, there had been a wedding after all</em>, Daenerys thought, feeling slightly dizzy. She hadn’t prepared for Jorah’s confession to bring her so much pain. She wasn’t jealous; really, she wasn’t. She had truly wanted… She had hoped the Captain knew happiness before his passing. But she was confused now. What had become of the Captain’s wife?</p><p>Yes, she was confused and sad, and she shouldn’t be. This was about him, not her, her and her silly delusions. She had become Captain Jorah Mormont’s biographer and she was going to finish this book in style, and with panache, and her readers would know the extent of Jorah’s beautiful love story.</p><p>“And this room, Jorah, she… she must have loved it!” Daenerys affirmed, having found her voice back and moving once more into the light.</p><p>“I certainly bought the writing desk for her.”</p><p>“Yes, you would. You would be the kind of man to buy his fiancée the most gorgeous of all writing desks, with dainty panels and drawers full of scented stationery.”</p><p>She was smiling now, her whole being focused on Jorah, her heart taken over by the overwhelming desire to let him know how much he deserved for this woman to love him, and how wonderful his gift to her was.</p><p>“Oh! Jorah, did she tell you just how perfect that bow window is, so theatrical with its raised platform, and your telescope, proudly sitting there for you both to search which star to wish upon? And… and the bed, as big as a kingdom, tell me she noticed the carvings on its headboard, the ships, the raging sea, and the mermaid and the bear, and the Captain and—”</p><p>Daenerys was so passionate now, she was brimming and Jorah could hardly keep up with the speed of her speech, though he could not take his eyes away from her beautiful face. It took him a second to register what followed, her words tumbling without pause to:</p><p>“—and that nightgown I wear was for the woman of your dreams, was it not?”</p><p>There was a silent lull and Jorah found himself having to take a deep breath.</p><p>“Aye,” he breathed out.</p><p>“Did she look like me?” she inquired, the words leaving her mouth before she could stop them.</p><p>Daenerys had never thought about that possibility and, suddenly… It would make sense, wouldn’t it? That Jorah let her stay at the Keep because she reminded him <em>of her. </em>That he had opened up, not because he was falling for a stranger but because he missed his lost love.</p><p>How could she have been so blind, so presumptuous herself? To think he could have loved her, Daenerys, instead of she.</p><p>But Jorah was not responding. She had to repeat, willing her voice to remain steady.</p><p>“Did she look like me?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jorah had to acquiesce.</p><p><em>Oh Gods, had she played the part of his fiancée? </em>Daenerys wondered, her heart breaking. Yet, she forged on.</p><p>“What was her name?”</p><p>“Lynesse,” he murmured, trying to find a breach in Daenerys’ train of thought to stop her from inflicting herself more pain. Because she was in pain, it was so abundantly clear. This was not the course he had set for them. This—</p><p>“Captain.” There were tears threatening to spill from Daenerys’ eyes. “Tell me… Tell me Lynesse loved you <em>very, very</em> much because, or else…”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>Daenerys had to blink at that and then hold her breath when she saw Jorah lean in closer towards her.</p><p>“No, Daenerys,” he murmured, his deep voice rumbling like far-away thunder over the sea, “I cannot tell you Lynesse loved me <em>very, very much</em>, nor can I tell you she adored the writing desk nor was glad for the telescope or ever looked as happy and amorous as <em>you</em>, my amazing, my one and only, my beautiful darling, when you dream in my bed, because Lynesse never set foot in this house. She left me… at the altar.”</p><p><em>What?</em> Daenerys was in shock.</p><p>“Lynesse never loved me, you see. She thought she’d be coming into money when marrying me, and I thought I’d put all of that money… into our home.”</p><p>“A home she never wanted?”</p><p>“Indeed not, Khaleesi.”</p><p>
  <em>What a fool this woman had been!</em>
</p><p>“But you said, you said she wanted, she wanted windows for the sea breeze and, and rooms like libraries, one for each season…”</p><p>“Daenerys, the woman <em>I dreamed of</em> would have… but I, I misconstrued Lynesse. I thought I knew her, and I didn’t. I understand that now. Oh! She would have <em>hated</em> Keep Cottage!” Jorah laughed, surprising Daenerys. “She now lives in some horrid tower in New York City with a bumptious industrialist, which should give you an idea as to how she misconstrued <em>me</em>.”</p><p>That brought a smile to Daenerys, though she was still shaking, and it gave Jorah the courage to lean in even closer.</p><p>“My darling, it was never for Lynesse that Keep Cottage was built. It was for the regal deity who, one day, braved everything, and left her in-laws, and crossed the sea, and was not afraid of a ghost. The infuriating, stubborn, witty, generous young woman who, one glorious summer, came here, wearing a large-brimmed hat with muslin ribbons the wind kept blowing into her eyes, until she took it off to look at the house, look at <em>me</em>…”</p><p>“Daring you to love her back,” Daenerys whispered, finally understanding it was she, all along, which Jorah was describing.</p><p>“Daring me to love <em>you</em> back, yes! Because you claimed the Keep for yourself, you <em>fought</em> for it, and you made it your home. <em>Our home!</em> And—”</p><p>Oh! how Jorah was breathless, speaking to her with passion and, just like Daenerys had done, a few minutes ago, he dived into the rest without pausing.</p><p>“—And, Khaleesi, hear me! Lynesse never, <em>ever </em>wore the nightgown I gifted you. She never saw it. She never knew of its existence. It was my mother’s. A gift from my father to his wildling bride, his beautiful pixie…”</p><p>“Oh, Jorah!”</p><p>Tears were pearling from Daenerys’ eyes and she held her breath, seeing Jorah lean towards her, towards her face, and putting his hand so very close to hers, on the armrest of her chair.</p><p>“My love, my <em>only </em>love,” Jorah whispered with such intensity, his lips so close to hers, Daenerys felt the warmth of his breath upon her. “Khaleesi, <em>please</em> don’t cry. <em>You</em> are the Lady of Keep Cottage. It was destined to you and, had I known, had I foreseen your coming…”</p><p>“Jorah…”</p><p>Oh, surely he knew she had only been able to rent Keep Cottage… because he had passed away. There lied the terrible conundrum of their love.</p><p>Holding in her trembling breath, Daenerys looked at their hands, almost touching. If she moved her pinkie, she would come into contact with him… and join him in the afterlife. She almost did it then, lifting her gaze to him. But, seeing the resolve in her eyes, then her hand move… Jorah pulled away. And rose from his seat!</p><p>“Madam!”</p><p>“I…” Daenerys was still so confused, and hurting, beyond the certainty that Jorah loved her. He <em>loved </em>her…</p><p>“It’s you, alive, I need!” He was shaking from the folly she had almost committed.</p><p>Oh, how formidable Jorah sounded and looked upon these words! And then, Daenerys had to hold her breath because her Captain was kneeling in front of her.</p><p>“Khaleesi please,” she heard him say, “for me! Please! ...<em>Live?</em>”</p><p>
  <em>But why, why should she? What did it matter? It only kept them apart.</em>
</p><p>“I want you to become the woman you’ve always dreamt to be; I want you to soar; I want you to live a thousand springs!” Jorah murmured in his deepest baritone, his passion washing all over Daenerys. “If you live,” he pleaded further, as if luring her…</p><p>“If I live?” Daenerys repeated.</p><p>“Then you can finish your work, your <em>beautiful</em> writing, our book, and let the whole world know—”</p><p>“Of our love story?”</p><p>“Yes. Yes, my darling. Exactly!”</p><p>How relieved Jorah looked to Daenerys, his soulful face half ablaze from the fire and his eyes needing no light of day to shine with<em>amour</em>.</p><p>Daenerys raised her hand towards him, towards his cheek, but he ‘intercepted’ her motion with his own, and started when, his now translucent fingers hovering above hers, he saw his usual blueish shimmer sparkle upon meeting Daenerys’… reddish one.</p><p><em>What? What miracle was this? </em>Jorah was struck dumb, seeing the strange phenomena occur before his very eyes while he guessed, lifting his gaze to Daenerys, that she, <em>she</em> was not in the least surprised by it.</p><p>There was a lull between them, and then… Gilly’s voice!</p><p>“Milady ...Daenerys?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys turned swiftly ‘round, and seeing her friend standing in the doorway, she rose from her seat. How long had she been there? What tableau was she composing: she, all aflutter, and her Captain, absentee? Daenerys dared not venture.</p><p>“I… I thought you should know,” Gilly whispered, very well understanding that she had happened upon some momentous event beyond her comprehension, “that dinner is ready.”</p><p>She paused, waiting for Daenerys to react. And then she thought to add: “The stew we made?”</p><p>“Yes!” Daenerys exclaimed, recomposing herself as she smoothed her dress. “Thank you, Gilly. I’ll be down, presently… And Gilly?”</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“We’ll have the most beautiful Christmas ever.”</p><p>“Yes, Your Grace,” Gilly beamed.</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys came back to her room, having replaced the tremors of her heart with joy, thanks to Gilly, it was dark. And yet, she feared not, because it smelled faintly of vanilla. The pipe tobacco which Jorah smoked too rarely.</p><p>Its scent warmed her heart… and gave her the courage to go sit at her typewriter.</p><p>“Captain?”</p><p>Only the wind answered her, howling. Yes, howling outside, across from their beautiful bow window. Was he upset from their earlier confessions? Why had the weather turned so ferocious? ...She lit the lamp on her desk and called him again.</p><p>“I believe, Captain, there may be only one chapter left to write, and I would so very much like to lay it down with you,” her lovely voice hung in the air. “Won’t you come to me?” she added, hoping.</p><p>After a beat, as if on cue, the room became brighter and Daenerys smiled, seeing the soft light of the gas appliqués shimmer, and the licks of the fireplace play in the hearth, underneath the Captain’s portrait which hung over the mantlepiece.</p><p>“And what should we write about?” Jorah asked, materializing next to Daenerys, his voice as warm as the amber glow about the room.</p><p>Daenerys looked up at him, and his eyes crinkled with affection. They could have stayed like this forever, and maybe they did.</p><p>But then Daenerys blinked.</p><p>“It was our maiden voyage,” she whispered, while typing the words “and I had brought way too many clothes on our honeymoon…” </p><p>Oh!  </p><p>Oh, she was going to take them on that adventure he had secretly imagined for them, as newlyweds, escaping the world, escaping everything and every man! A honeymoon at sea he had dreamed of a hundred times… but which they would never, ever know.</p><p>“It was our maiden voyage,” he nonetheless whispered back.</p><p>And, looking once more at Daenerys, and she at him, Jorah let go. He dived into the violet waters of her eyes, following her lead; his heart forgetting its suffering for just this evening. For just a moment. </p><p>“It was our maiden voyage… and you had brought, way, way too many clothes,” he smiled at Daenerys, alighting her features.  </p><p>Of course, he would play along, Daenerys realized, so much in love. Of course, he would tell her of his fantasy. And hers.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“I had set a course for us across the Mediterranean, on our schooner, taking us to Altaï Sicilia,” Jorah boasted, walking back and forth in front of Daenerys’ writing desk, the snow flurries outside now dancing gaily behind him for a perfect Christmas. “In the Tyrrhenian Sea, of course, where the water was warm enough for a pixie and where said pixie would not have to bring… so many clothes!”</p><p>Daenerys laughed at the repetition, not minding at all Jorah scolding her for a make-believe breach in honeymoon protocol!  </p><p>Oh! how she typed, and smirked, as he went on to describe their adventures in and around the Eolian isles. They were chasing Ulysses, of course, but also bathing in cerulean waters, raiding open-air markets and, sailing, sailing full speed ahead, to race along jumping dolphins, and look for sea monsters, and demi-gods…</p><p>“And sirens?” Daenerys asked, lifting her fingers from her keys.</p><p>“Well no, Daenerys!” Jorah looked dumbfounded at her overlooking the obvious: “The siren was on board!”</p><p>Once more, Jorah made Daenerys laugh out loud. </p><p>“Oh! you laugh, madam?” Jorah exclaimed, with theatrical flourish. “Well! Let me tell you how this siren made me suffer, with her silver locks, wild and free, and her seven freckles…” </p><p>Jorah was leaning towards Daenerys now, one hand upon her desk and the other bent on his hip, his expression quite formidable. </p><p>“And…” He meant to add more injurious faults but being so close to Daenerys’ luminous smile was making him lose his train of thought.</p><p>“And… her too voluminous wardrobe?” suggested Daenerys.</p><p>“Yes! Yes, exactly,” he concurred, pulling back “because, let us be scientific about all of this: have you ever known mermaids to be but naked?”</p><p>“Well, they do have scales. On their tails?” </p><p>At this, Jorah once more stopped in his tracks and looked at Daenerys with a deadpan expression that made his Lady bite the inside of her cheeks. She loved it so when he play-acted irritation. She lowered her head then and spoke out loud what she was typing. </p><p>“The… mermaid… was not… very… cooperative.” </p><p>When she lifted her eyes to Jorah, he was smiling, trying not to laugh. </p><p>Of course, she then had to add: “Next, you’ll tell me the sun and sea were expecting a tribute, not a fashion show?”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, my darling,” Jorah whispered, as he gazed upon Daenerys, reclining on her pillows, her lithe body all bundled up inside the midnight blue eiderdown of his bed, to contrast with the icy cold winter of the night, “the sun and sea were expecting a tribute, and what a glorious one you gifted them.”</p><p>Daenerys was not typing anymore because… did they really want to finish the book, this night or any night? Weren’t they writing a never-ending story? Theirs, and theirs alone? </p><p>“Jorah?” </p><p>“Yes, my Lady.”</p><p>They were gazing at each other, their faces and lips as close as they could be without touching; without kissing.</p><p>“You’re about to vanish, aren’t you?” Daenerys whispered sweetly, sleepily. “Leaving me to gaze at your portrait?” </p><p><em>Oh no…</em> If she was going to lay down her jesting mask, he would have to let go of his, and they would suffer anew. He tried to save them from this woe. </p><p>“I’m always here, with you. I’ll be here tomorrow evening too. Can’t abandon my pixie on Christmas.” </p><p>While whispering in velvet rumbles, Jorah’s hand swept over Daenerys’ forehead, and the wind blew away a strand of hair as if his fingers had done the deed. </p><p>“I love it so, when you tell the sea breeze to caress me,” Daenerys purred.</p><p>He was going to lose himself in her eyes if he didn’t go soon.</p><p>“Jorah?”</p><p>“Yes, my Love.”</p><p>“Can you feel this?” she asked, raising her fingers to hover above the prickly nest of his beard, where his lips hid. </p><p>
  <em>Oh!  </em>
</p><p><em>Oh… dear Gods,</em> he did. The same way he had seen and felt her faery touch before, when he was kneeling in front of her, before supper. How could that be?  </p><p>Jorah closed his eyes on Daenerys’ daring almost-touch, and… <em>Don’t stop my love, don’t</em>… He could feel again, his skin tingling all over, his flesh alighting… He could… <em>Oh…</em> When he opened his eyes again, there were tears of joy in Daenerys’ eyes.</p><p>“Jorah?”</p><p>He had to answer, didn’t he? But her touch, her touch was robbing him of words. He could only manage to whisper: </p><p>
  <em>Yes, Khaleesi.</em>
</p><p>“On our schooner…” </p><p>
  <em>Yes? </em>
</p><p>“We made love, didn’t we?” </p><p>
  <em>Yes. </em>
</p><p>“Every day, and every night.” </p><p>
  <em>Yes.</em>
</p><p>“And we never came back to shore?”</p><p>
  <em>Never! </em>
</p><p>“And did I make you happy?”</p><p><em>—Oh please, please… please stop!</em> Jorah thought, silently, before speaking again, his deep voice breaking. </p><p>“You… You my darling, made the sun rise and set on my watch—and in my heart!”  </p><p>Jorah slid his face closer to Daenerys’ then, breathing in her scent, her very breath, and he whispered on her lips and in the violet of her eyes: “My Siren, my Queen, you, in my arms, assuaged all of the Gods and put them to shame. We moored at sea, do you remember? With Stromboli on our starboard side, between Mount Etna and far-away Vesuvius, and we dared them to erupt. <em>We dared them,</em> do you hear? While we made love, forevermore!”</p><p>“Jorah?” </p><p>He couldn’t answer back anymore. His throat was on fire and Daenerys was grazing his lips again, and his eyelids, and his cheek. But he opened his eyes when she spoke again. </p><p>“Those are the very words I wrote before you took me to bed… and I could not wish for a more perfect gift, for this Christmas, and all the Christmases to come in our Keep.”</p><p><em>Oh! my love.</em>  </p><p>“And now you will dream of us?” he heard himself say. </p><p>“And now, I will dream of us.” </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys opened her eyes, it took her a few suspended seconds to understand. The sky was pink and blue and violet. A southerly wind was whispering to her. And her body was floating or, rather, gently rocking because… she was on a sailboat!</p><p>Rising from her makeshift berth on some upper deck, Daenerys looked around her and blinked: there was the ocean, as far as the eye could see, with islands dotting the horizon, and squawking seagulls dancing in the sunset sky, while gentle waves were lapping the ship, spraying her…</p><p>She was dreaming, surely! Yet, she could see far and wide—more so even than on her cliffs at The Keep! And the colours: they were so… vibrant. And the air smelled of salt, black volcanic salt! While the wind—warm and soft—was playing with her loose tresses and her dress; her mermaid dress of aqua blue, made up of a long skirt floating about her, over which she wore a sheer bustier.<em> What in the name of—?</em></p><p>But Daenerys stopped wondering about her appearance when… she heard him. <em>Jorah!</em> Singing, in his baritone rumble, a sweetly ribald song. She held her breath then and found herself walking tentatively towards the sound; her feet, her arm extending in front of her.</p><p>Until she saw him. In the light. In his yellow shirt.  </p><p>Daenerys had to pause then, as if finding herself on the threshold of some portal. She put a hand to her bosom to quiet her heart, and will her breath to slow down. She felt… She felt like Sleeping Beauty, having willed herself to wake from centuries of slumber.</p><p>If she took a step forward, if she dared step inside the picture frame, and felicity smiled down upon her, maybe there would be no turning back. The thought brought tears to her eyes, and she stretched the seconds before her, to relish the suffering she was about to vanquish.</p><p>He was right there, her golden Captain, her Knight, the Love of her life. And so...</p><p> </p><p>                 </p><p>                 </p><p>                    </p><p>
  
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. To dream, per chance to love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When a dream shows Daenerys the way to felicity, her advent to Christmas Eve builds up her expectations... A wish clearly finding an echo in Jorah, her amorous Captain.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Well, the wait is over... because dreams have that power... and therefore, the rating has just gone up to "M." Enjoy, lovelies!</p><p>p.s. and thank you to @Itszulasworld for the moodboard; a gift after her read :-)))))))))))))</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>                                     </p><p> </p><p>THE KEEP<em><strong> - CHAPTER 7 </strong></em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Khaleesi, the sun and sea are expecting a tribute, not a fashion show!” Jorah playfully exclaimed over his shoulder, interrupting his sailor’s song to tease Daenerys. He was sitting, perched over the sea, with his half-naked legs swung overboard, tying bait to his fishing hook…</p><p>… And looking every bit the perfect golden pirate! thought Daenerys, completely mesmerised. They had to be on his schooner, their honeymoon ship! The air was balmy, and the sun had just set, leaving the sky a beautiful tapestry of pinks and magentas, now reflecting on a tranquil, tranquil sea. And though she had willed this dream, though Jorah had given her leave to travel in its secret, nothing, <em>nothing</em> had prepared her for the reality of it, the overwhelming quality of details assailing her senses. </p><p>“Frankly madam,” she heard Jorah jest further, “I’ve got half a mind to throw your trunks overboard!” </p><p>Moving ’round the mast, Daenerys could see her Captain more clearly now, sitting just a few feet from her. In the light. With his bouffant yellow shirt all at once loose and clinging to his arms and torso as he threw his line in the water, the movement making her glance down to his off-white sailor’s breeches, showcasing his muscled thighs and naked suntanned calves. And the light again, the magic hour light, giving his hair a luminous bronze-like sheen. He was such a golden sight! And yet, he looked to be real. Truly… real. </p><p>Transfixed, Daenerys felt herself move forward and across the shiny cypress of the schooner’s boards, her naked feet knowing their way around, she discovered. Her hand held on briefly to the boom and the wrapped-up sail she needed to bend under, to reach her Love. She tiptoed to him, not minding at all the wind blowing much of her skirt open, nor the muslin of her bustier falling from her shoulders. </p><p>Jorah had his back to her and was chirping away, his brooding demeanour nowhere to be found. He seemed so light-hearted. Daenerys looked at her hand reach for his curls, at the base of his sun-kissed neck—the way she had done before, inside their bedchamber but, this time, this time… she felt him! Her fingers grazed the lustre of Jorah’s hair… and then dipped inside its softness. And just that—just that—made a tear pearl down to her cheek.  </p><p>A dolphin jumped in front of them and Jorah smiled, leaning into Daenerys’ caress, but without turning to her. There were fishes fighting for his line. She was caressing his whisps of hair—buying time, before she woke. Because though she would give anything not to, she would wake soon, surely, and the thought was already crushing her. She tugged gently on Jorah’s curls, wanting to remember the sensation forever, and then she laid her hand on the nape of his neck, feeling his muscles there, and his warmth… and his pulse! Oh!</p><p>“I see what you’re up to, seafoam temptress!” Jorah exclaimed, playfully. “You think I’ll forget about my resolve, one touch of your dainty hand sufficing to—Daenerys?”</p><p>Jorah had turned to her, finally, and though she saw the effect of her sultry dress on his features, it was her bewildered and emotional expression that stole his breath. </p><p>“My love,” he managed to stutter, rising to his feet, and letting go of his fishing rod, “what’s wrong?” </p><p>But there was no way Daenerys could answer him, not right now. Delicately, she raised her fingers to his mouth, to shush him, almost wincing in pain as she discovered how soft his lips were, inside their prickly nest, before raking his salt and golden beard. </p><p>“Daenerys…” Jorah repeated, looking vaguely worried. He raised his own fingers to her face, and she started when his large hand cupped the whole of her cheek and then slipped inside the wildness of her mane. </p><p>“Jorah!” she breathed, almost frightened. </p><p>The next second, he was securing her in his arms, pulling her to him very tenderly. Daenerys found herself so tiny in the very midst of her Captain, her mind imploding on the sensation of him enfolding her, relishing his contained strength, and every sound—his heart, his voice—every smell—his skin, the sea on his skin—every…</p><p>“Did you fall asleep in the sun?” she heard him say, interrupting her vertigo. Jorah was kissing her hair and checking for signs of insolation. “What’s wrong, my darling?” He was looking into Daenerys’ eyes, so worried now. But she was—she was just transfixed with the realness of him. His manly bulk, the strong, athletic form of him, the feel of his skin, the sparkling blue of his eyes. “You should maybe lie down,” he was telling her.</p><p>Jorah never finished his sentence because Daenerys’ lips came to claim his, feverishly, her arms hooked around his neck, her feet on tiptoe, until she sensed herself being holstered up and crushed to Jorah’s strong chest.</p><p>
  <em>My Love?</em>
</p><p>She didn’t answer her Captain’s breathy query. No, Daenerys just kept her hand to his cheek to better kiss him and kiss him, her lips melting on his mouth, and stealing his breath away, until, as he set her on the schooner’s railing to try to get a good look at her, <em>she </em>searched his eyes, in awe, before diving in for more. Daenerys never thought, in her wildest dream—and, yes, of course, this <em>was</em> a dream but it didn’t feel like one!—that kissing could feel this way!</p><p>If this had not been a dream, maybe she would have found words to utter, maybe she would have helped her Captain fish for their supper, maybe she would have cozied to him and they would have spoken of nothing and everything. She would have tasted the sheer happiness of simply being with the man she loved. Because they would have had all the time in the world. But this was <em>not</em> going to last. She was given a gift, transient, fragile, evanescent: Jorah, in her arms. And by the Gods, she would not squander it! She would honour it.</p><p>
  <em>Daenerys?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hush…</em>
</p><p>The feel of him; the spirit of her Captain flowing from his flesh into hers! She embraced him then—this gift made man—she kissed Jorah and all else be damned!</p><p>A kiss so sensual, so intoxicating, so… liberating! Daenerys had never kissed Drogo of her own volition, but she felt like <em>feasting </em>on Jorah, she did! She could tell he was surprised—and worried, as she assailed him with such flurry, her thighs opening up for him to push his core to hers, her legs snaking up towards his hips to keep him close. They were embracing over the swell of the sea, Daenerys’ back reclining towards the waves. It was dangerous but he held her fast. <em>He had her</em> and she would prevail—was it preordained?—because she felt him relinquish, the tension in his shoulders and chest relaxing as he welcomed her hunger, kissing her back until, hearing her moan wantonly, he drew from her.</p><p>“Khaleesi, so soon?” Jorah whispered half-naughtily, half-concerned. “Have you forgotten how the day began and the noon hour unfolded?”</p><p><em>They had made love?</em> Daenerys asked herself, in wonder. The way he had promised her? <em>‘Every day, and every night’…</em> But how could she remember their love-making when she was tasting him and feeling him, truly, for the first time? One of his hand was brushing the silkiness of her thigh while the other was pushing the small of her back to him. And she couldn’t stop kissing Jorah, and touching him, her hands feeling the muscles of his shoulder blades, and then his neck again and the softness of his curls. No words could weave through her breath; she could only heave her state of arousal, her eyes pleading him, and her breasts brushing against the golden fur of his chest showing from his parted shirt.</p><p>“Well then,” Jorah rasped, his manhood aching and his Adam’s apple catching upon recognising the unmistakable state of his Love, “shall we go down to our cabin?”</p><p>“No!” Daenerys was quick to whisper, clinging to Jorah and bringing his lips down to hers, yet again, because, no, indeed, they could not go down to their cabin! She was not going to let him slip out of her arms, she could not risk it! She could wake any second.</p><p>
  <em>Jorah, please…</em>
</p><p>Her soul was maybe lost to slumber but this dream felt like she was finally awake. Like she came from some cold phantom place, someplace where love was denied her, denied them. And now she was awake to the World and quivering in Jorah’s arms; so afraid, so desperate, so hungry!</p><p>But Daenerys feared for nought.</p><p>Jorah swept her up in his arms, just as sea birds around them cried in defiance. And he kissed her. <em>He </em>kissed her, making her moan in answer. The urgency she felt had become his! Daenerys sensed herself fly through the air, until her back <em>flooffed </em>inside a cloud of sails, spilling on deck, the landing softened by her Captain’s muscled arms. She saw the violet canopy of the sky above her, and then Jorah’s eyes, turning stormy and dark from desire as his hovered above hers.</p><p>“My Love,” Jorah heaved, kissing her again and then coming up for air, but not letting her go—his eyes, burning, but trying to make sure she was alright.</p><p>“Jorah, please…” Daenerys moaned. She was drowning and needed him like precious air!</p><p>He took her lips then, and kissed her, deeply, pressing his core to hers, his breath a low guttural rumbling.</p><p>What fever was this? All at once aroused and so, so concerned, Jorah kept laying warm kisses on Daenerys eyelids, and cheeks, and lower, in the nook of her neck, on the tender swell of her breasts but, every time he kissed her, it only made her answer with a dreamy moan, a sultry moan, a desperate moan, her body melting into his.</p><p>Daenerys was ravenous, as she quivered in his arms, her nails raking his beard, her hand searching under his yellow shirt, to find his heart below the muscles and fur of his chest. She was kissing the lines around his eyes, and smelling the muskiness of him. She was tugging on his curls, to better kiss him, kiss him, <em>kiss him,</em> with lips as swollen as those in the secret of her. Oh! How she searched, and pleaded with Jorah’s manhood to come find her, and mate!</p><p>Had there been other moments like this, between them? On their schooner, when hours of lovemaking had made them drunk and dizzy, unable to stop regardless of their satiation? The inextinguishable fire Daenerys felt rising in her was calling out the feral in her Captain. This sudden outburst, this desperate need, under the rising stars, not caring for jealous Gods and their rages, was overwhelming her and making Jorah—lose his senses.</p><p>He was lifting her waist now, from their bed of sails, inviting her silky legs to wrap around his hips, for him to knead her through his sailors’ breeches, possessively, rhythmically, his gruff and hungry mouth leaving her lips to push aside the sheer fabric of her bustier. He needed to taste her lovely buds—gorging up, for him. And she was rasping his name, making him want to bite her there<em>. Oh how it did</em>—she heard it in his rumble! But he stopped himself, just in time, raising his eyes to her and, breathing once, twice, and searching her features, their combined breath speaking of so much irrepressible desire, Jorah smiled… before nipping her lips, slowly, dangerously, and then her tender earlobe, more ravenously, while she breathed his name, sultry and low.</p><p>“Khaleesi, you <em>know</em> what this does to me,” he managed to growl in her ear.</p><p>No, no she did not! Could he not tell? That she had never been in his arms like this? And that she ached for him to ravish her? She wanted to scream it, as she lunged for his lips, taking them herself, and biting them, for her lust to surge through his blood.</p><p>“Show me, Jorah,” she managed to breathe out, haughtily, “Show me… what this does to you!” her voice catching on her command.</p><p>“What this does to me? What… this… does to me, my darling?” she heard Jorah rasp, the muscles below his cheekbones clenching between ferocious kisses and more amorous kneading upon her renewed sighs.</p><p>Jorah’s caresses, and the weight of his body, were washing over Daenerys, making her crest, as did feeling the rush of blood pulsating through her Captain’s manhood when her hand glided to his imprisoned crotch. A hardness of bronze was waiting there for her.</p><p>“This… this is what you do to me, my Love!” Jorah said with clenched teeth, pushing himself in her hand, his voice so husky it made the flower of her sex throb. “You make me feel… like a pirate about to raid a treasure!” he rasped further, while his hands were brushing up her long flowing skirt to grab her hips, one of his knees pushing her thighs apart.</p><p>Oh! How his caresses were scorching her intimate flesh now, making her crave pleasure—which she had only known by herself, until now. How intoxicating, how wonderful to discover Jorah knew how to make her soar. His voice was burning her, and his touch showing her the way to rapture.</p><p>“You make me feel like Poseidon ravishing a Nereid, my darling!… Like a King upon a banquet… Like a—”</p><p>“Like a Bear stealing honeycomb?” Daenerys susurrated, so close to shattering as she abandoned herself to Jorah’s caresses.</p><p>“Aye, my sweet!”</p><p>Jorah’s hand was trailing her final cresting, his fingers twirling <em>’</em>round her pearl. She had never felt like this. Never! With Drogo, it wasn’t… It had never been… Oh! But she didn’t want to think of Drogo! She wanted to drown in this dream of the present; she wanted to soar with her Love, with her only Love! And she was. Right now—shattering!</p><p>Moaning Jorah’s name, Daenerys had to close her eyes in the end, the pleasure too great, and when she opened them again, relishing the after-tremors of pleasure, she saw his smile, filled with so much pride. One of her hands went to cup his face, her eyes diving into his, for him to know she was truly here, in this moment, with him; and for her to remember it always, should she wake. But she wouldn’t wake, would she? She didn’t want to! They were breathing as one now, and she could see desire overtaking Jorah.</p><p>“Daenerys… More my love?” he asked her, unable to form complete sentences. Oh! he was suffering, how wondrous!</p><p><em>Yes! Oh yes, Captain</em>… she told him with her eyes… and her hand, as it came to rip open the front panel to his breeches, already moist from having kissed her offered flesh. <em>There </em>was the treasure she meant to claim, the Beast she dreamt of freeing! Oh! how she wanted to… to <em>feel</em> again, her hips swaying towards Jorah.</p><p>“Are you like the bear, my darling?” she asked, one final time, feeling Jorah’s burning flesh finally find hers.</p><p>“A Bear, Khaleesi,” Jorah rumbled on her skin, “a Bear in love, wallowing in luscious—decadent—honey!”</p><p>And Daenerys felt herself on the point of soaring again on <em>every </em>syllable of Jorah’s voice resounding in the secret of her; the sound of it thrusting up, just as his manhood was parting her secret lips, to gorge itself on pleasure made creamy lust. Jorah growled then, just before thrusting deep, and—</p><p><em>The door hidden in the bow window of The Keep’s master bedroom flew open with a bang, letting in a flurry of snow!</em> </p><p>Daenerys sat up straight in her bed, holding one hand to her heaving chest and the other to her mouth to keep herself from screaming. Her body was still throbbing and aching… It ached so <em>deliciously</em>… and she felt, she felt confused. It was snowing in her bedroom and where was the sea, where was Jorah? She had to pull herself from her bed, running to the window, to shut it tight, her burning forehead resting a second on the freezing glass. This reminded her… It reminded her of that dream she had, that amazing dream, on the train, upon crossing over into Scotland!</p><p>
  <em>Oh Jorah!</em>
</p><p>When next she turned from the window, her heaving body leaning on the door, her eyes latched on to her Captain’s portrait and, she sighed. Caught between pain and rapture, Daenerys whispered: “My Love, what are you doing to me?”</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <strong>***</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Madam?…” The melodious voice was reaching Daenerys, but she didn’t want to wake. “Madam Sleepy Head?” That velvety whisper, teasing her… “It’s Christmas Eve, and you are squatting my bed.”</p><p>Daenerys finally cracked an eye open, only to discover the Captain sitting squarely beside her, his hands intertwined on his lap, looking very cosy and matter-of-fact.</p><p>Starting, Daenerys pulled the bedsheets and eiderdown to her bosom, one of her hands slicking her hair, needlessly worrying about her looks.</p><p>“My Lady, if you are about to scold me, though I will admit I deserve your womanly wrath for violating your morning modesty, I beg you to hear me out.”</p><p>“Jorah?”</p><p>“Yes, it is I, my darling.”</p><p>Daenerys looked so endearingly confused to Jorah, right now, he couldn’t help but smile tenderly. Lowering his head to her, and his voice, and thinking of their parting words the night before, he added: “Did you sleep well… and dream of us?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh my Gods, her dream!</em>
</p><p>She blushed violently. And how <em>beautiful</em> she looked to Jorah. Had he been a flesh and blood man, he would have smothered her with kisses! Instead…</p><p>“It’s Christmas Eve, madam… and there is so much to be done!”</p><p>Jorah’s blue, blue eyes were sparkling, and his levity was so much on par with what Daenerys had peaked of him in her dream, it only made her blush even more!</p><p>“Miss Gilly has been hard at work since dawn, I’ll have you know, and it is almost…”</p><p>The clock on the fireplace’s mantlepiece chimed as if on cue: “Ten o’clock!”</p><p>“Oh! my Lords!” Daenerys pushed the bedsheets away from her and jumped out of the bed to run into the bathroom, grabbing some clothes on her way in, then dropping them, then picking them up again, her movement in a flurry bringing a smile to Jorah’s lips. He chuckled when she finally slammed the bathroom door behind her, only to open it again, to throw away her corset.</p><p>“Oh! I approve,” Jorah laughed… “And good morning to you too,” he quipped, smiling softly.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Daenerys had apologised so profusely to Gilly, it made her friend throw flour at her to keep her quiet; the gesture threatening to turn the kitchen into a battleground. Giggling, the young women were hard at work, preparing a goose and cranberry compote and potatoes <em>dauphinoises</em> and plum pudding, and churning ice cream—<em>oh my gods</em>—and baking layered cakes, with candied fruits and clove, and <em>oh!, ohhhhhh!</em> Gilly had found grapefruits and lemons, <em>lemons!</em> to bake Christmas marmalade!</p><p>Daenerys hadn’t been this happy since… since forever! The Holidays were never a happy time in her family home because it reminded everyone of her mother’s death, and Drogo was not one to celebrate faerie moments. But Gilly had a knack for joy and this Christmas advent had been the best ever, thanks to her… and the Captain’s magic. He was watching them cook presently and she could tell he was happy. Is this how he had dreamed his kitchen would look like and sound like and smell like when he was imagining life at The Keep, and longing for her? Daenerys blushed again, remembering her dream of him in turn!</p><p>Stealing a glance towards Jorah, she wondered: had he shared her dream? Had he scripted it? Did Jorah know how terribly, terribly happy he had made her even with… her untimely waking?</p><p>“Daenerys! The syrup!”</p><p>Ack! She had daydreamed one second too long and failed to see her concoction boil over. Scolded, then aided, by Gilly, Daenerys hurried to avert a culinary catastrophe. Her eyes were nonetheless sparkling and her cheeks aglow, stealing more looks to her Captain who was laughing in his beard.</p><p>All morning long, he hovered about her, almost like a Tempter, whispering smitten words and effusions meant to compliment the food but which sounded strangely like odes to her femininity and how so very much he’d love to taste it, and savour it, and have a bite.</p><p><em>Captain, hush!</em> Daenerys whispered, as quietly as possible, holding in her laughter… and shooing Jorah. And he did try to keep out of the way. Which was easier said than done, given the ladies’ flurry of activities!</p><p>“You know you could help, don’t you?” Daenerys scolded Jorah further, when Gilly was out of hearing range.</p><p>“Madam!” he scoffed, “I would if I could!”</p><p>“Right! Next you’ll tell me you signed the Suffragette’s Petition of 1866!”</p><p>“The what?”</p><p>“My point exactly!”</p><p>“What did you say?” inquired Gilly, pulling her head from one of the ovens.</p><p>“Nothing!… <em>Men</em><em>!</em>” Daenerys spurted, as if simply interjecting on a train-of-thought.</p><p>“Oh yes, <em>them</em>, well… We can lament all day long about them, and for what?”</p><p>“Nought!”</p><p>Jorah rolled his eyes in jest but…</p><p>“Exactly!” Gilly concluded, as if setting the World right. “Now,” she added, “I don’t know about you but… I’m famished!”</p><p>Which made Daenerys laugh out loud, and the Captain chuckle, as he leaned on the wall next to the hearth. Gilly was sprinkled in flour and sugar and spices and Daenerys fared no better. They could simply have feasted on one another. Instead, they helped themselves to two bowls of the hearty soup they had made, and which had been simmering since the eve, breaking their crusty homemade bread over its bouillon… until Daenerys dipped hers in Gilly’s bowl. Shocking her friend.</p><p>“What?” Daenerys exclaimed upon Gilly’s appalled reaction, “your bowl looks yummier!”</p><p>Even Jorah looked like he was salivating from the wings.</p><p>Deadpan, Gilly switched bowls, making Daenerys pause and ponder, but still she dipped her piece of bread in Gilly’s bowl, that is, the one she had before.</p><p>“What is this?’” exclaimed Gilly, laughing, “Sampling bowls until you find the one ‘just right for you’? This isn’t <em>Goldilocks and the three bears</em>, you know!” At that, Daenerys almost chocked, remembering her dream again, and the words left her lips before she could stop them: “Oh no, one bear will do!”</p><p>At that, both Jorah and Gilly looked nonplussed, which only made Daenerys struggle to swallow her soup, looking naughty, and then she made amends by letting Gilly scold her to hurry through their meals. So many chores left to do! It was just the two of them for Christmas Eve but, they were so industrious, Jorah thought they could have hosted a whole fleet. <em>That was a compliment,</em> he whispered to her, and Daenerys beamed at it.</p><p>When Gilly excused herself for a second, soon after lunch, Daenerys turned to find the Captain right next to her, with a smitten smile on his lips.</p><p>“You’re in my way, Captain.”</p><p>“So I am.”</p><p>He was so tall next to her, Daenerys found herself blushing again, like a schoolgirl. Was she now condemned to see that dream of hers, and feel it sear her flesh, every time she would look at Jorah, or sense his presence next to her?!</p><p>“I need to check on the goose,” she told him, to find her countenance.</p><p>“Oh, the goose is fine, whereas I have a pressing need.”</p><p>“And what pressing need would that be, Captain?” Daenerys smirked.</p><p>“This,” Jorah whispered, his fingers delicately wooshing a lock of her hair to set it back in place, without even touching it. “I’ve been meaning to do this for <em>hours</em>.”</p><p>At that, Daenerys couldn’t help but smile into his eyes.</p><p>“For hours?” she whispered, ironically.</p><p>“An eternity!” he concurred. “And I <em>know</em> eternity…”</p><p>There was a delicious lull between them, and Daenerys realised Jorah was looking to tell her more. He glanced down and back up again, stealing her heart with his bashful smile.</p><p>“I’m looking forward to this evening,” he managed to say, his deep velvety voice pooling all over her, while his fingers grazed hers, their skin alighting together in that moment, “we might, we might finish that chapter? It gives me such pleasure… writing, and creating with you.”</p><p>That stole Daenerys’ breath away! Did he mean… Did he mean her dream too? Oh! She’d go back on that schooner in a beat of their hearts if this was where and how they could be together!</p><p>But, of course, as was her habit, Gilly came back just then, disturbing the magic. And she was all a-flutter!</p><p>“Daenerys! Why didn’t you tell me?!… Oh, it’s beautiful!”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“The dining room! The parlour!”</p><p>Following her friend, Daenerys stopped in her tracks upon discovering the Christmas decorations brightening their parlour and formal dining room.</p><p>Gilly couldn’t help exclaiming: “And here I thought you had slept-in this morning…”</p><p>Oh, she had! No doubt about it, but how could she let Gilly know? Those beautiful decorations, all of this was surely the Captain’s work!</p><p>There was Jorah, looking very smug and content, leaning on the parlour’s mantlepiece and smoking his pipe. But Daenerys didn’t have the heart to scold him because while she was recuperating from <em>that dream</em>, he had been hard at work beautifying their home. And bringing stars to Gilly’s eyes!</p><p>“That tree, Daenerys…” Gilly whispered, looking up in awe at the eight-foot tall Douglas Fir all aglow with seashells and old-fashioned trinkets and opalescent wreaths made of scintillating paper—and tiny, delicate candles to be lit later. Her eyes were like those of a child and Daenerys realised she was possibly no different. There was so much love and gratitude in her own gaze when she turned to Jorah. Her Captain bowed then, only too happy to have made a difference.</p><p>“Oh my, Daenerys, do you know what this means?” Gilly exclaimed.</p><p>“No! What?” Daenerys answered, almost alarmed.</p><p>“It means we’re done!”</p><p>“We are?!”</p><p>“Yes! Therefore…”</p><p>*</p><p>Therefore… both of them were squealing, trying to stay upright on the skates they were trying to master, on the ice rink which Mr Tarly had watered for them, in the centre of their frozen rose garden.</p><p>The sun was already beginning to set, casting the snow around them in dreamy shades of pinks and yellows, and both Daenerys and Gilly were savouring the moment, and each other’s company, under Jorah’s protective glance. After a while, they did get the hang of it—skating—and, arm in arm, they drew elegant circles and figure eights, chirping along.</p><p>“Will you come to Midnight Mass with us, Daenerys? Samwell and I would love for you to accompany us, you know that, don’t you?”</p><p>“Gilly,” Daenerys answered, stealing a faraway glance towards the Captain, standing guard on the veranda, “you know I’m not one for religious pomp!”</p><p>Jorah, wearing his blue scarf, was fussing with a Christmas wreath… and the vision made her melt.</p><p>“Oh, Daenerys, it’ll be lovely, with all the singing and the beautiful lights. I don’t want you to stay here, all alone on Christmas Eve!”</p><p>Gilly’s concern was genuine, as was her friendship, and it warmed Daenerys’s heart, it did! She smiled tenderly, squeezing her friend’s arm, as they swooshed their way on the ice.</p><p>“Gilly, I…”</p><p>“Oh hush, you’ll tell me you want to write, and you never feel lonely when you write and—”</p><p>“Yes, that’s exactly it, my darling Gilly! You’ve found me out!” Daenerys exclaimed, laughing.</p><p>“You’re sure I can’t change your mind? They say all the best Bear Island bachelors will be attending mass,” Gilly tried to impress upon her friend.</p><p>Which only made Daenerys snort.</p><p>“You mean… men, Gilly?!” she exclaimed.</p><p>“Yes, I know… <em>Them</em>!” conceded Gilly.</p><p>They hurried their way back to the porch, as night was falling fast, and the celebrations were upon them. Yet, letting Gilly get on ahead, Daenerys couldn’t help but smile seeing violet roses bloom in her wake, their petals sparkling with ice crystals.</p><p>“Oh Captain, how beautiful,” she whispered.</p><p>“Never as much as you, Khaleesi,” he answered back, his hand and arm upholding his Love without touching her.</p><p>“Captain” she whispered, still, “of course I’ll stay tonight to finish our last chapter. I wouldn’t dream of being anywhere else but with you.”</p><p>Jorah beamed on those words while, high above, in the indigo sky, the almost-full moon was smiling too.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys entered the dining room, the House and its Captain found themselves as mesmerised by their Lady as the first day she entered The Keep. She had changed for diner, in a resplendent evening dress which had belonged to her mother. Designed by Worth, in opalescent silk and muslin, it showcased her naked shoulders but hugged and twirled about her, all the way down her shapely forms, until it pooled at her feet, in a small train. And, most wondrous of all, it seemed made of snow scintillating under the moonlight! Jorah could barely breathe looking at Daenerys, his eyes catching on the iridescence of her. No, he could not find his breath… but he did rise to full attention, leaving his armchair next to the fireplace, waiting for her to speak. Which Daenerys did not do right away as she too just stood there, simply spell-bound.</p><p>Though Jorah had seen to it that the room sparkled with Christmas decorations, Gilly had added to them by setting the most beautiful table ever, with formal chinaware and silver, and bright chandeliers. Amazed, Daenerys looked at Jorah, and then at her friend walking in with the first course.</p><p>“Gilly, what a magician you are!” Daenerys was finally able to exclaim, walking towards the table.</p><p>“Oh! I’m so glad you like it. Aren’t the dishes beautiful?” Gilly almost squealed.</p><p>“They were my family’s,” the Captain whispered, having walked next to Daenerys. “It makes me happy Miss Gilly made good use of them.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh indeed!</em>
</p><p>And then Daenerys’ eyes fell on the table’s settings. There were three.</p><p>“Samwell is to join us then?” she exclaimed, happily surprised.</p><p>“Samwell will come fetch me later, Daenerys,” Gilly explained, tentatively. “I thought… I thought we could invite… the Captain.”</p><p>Daenerys wasn’t the only one who started on Gilly’s incredible utterance; Jorah did too, both of them double-taking simultaneously. What a shame Gilly didn’t actually see them react in unison; it would have made her laugh! Instead, all she saw was her friend, looking rather paralysed.</p><p>“You don’t approve?” Gilly asked, already chagrined. “It’s just… It’s just that, with you writing about him, I thought… and, frankly, I’ve never seen you happier since ‘he’ came into your life and… and I feel him too, you know?!”</p><p>At that, Jorah looked strangely emotional, his glance towards Daenerys only precipitating her trying to reassure Gilly.</p><p>“I love it! I do!” Her hand squeezing her friend’s. “Come, let’s propose a toast!”</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Sitting at both ends of the table, like aristocratic ladies—or young girls, playacting—Daenerys and Gilly both raised their glass of champagne, smiling in each other’s eyes.</p><p>“To you, Milady,” Gilly declared, “Every day I see you bloom! You left the darkness to reinvent your life at The Keep, and that is an amazing feat. And I feel blessed that you should call me your friend!”</p><p>“Oh! Gilly! You know I could not have done it without you…”</p><p>“And to you, Captain!” Gilly added, turning to Jorah, sitting where she had set-up his place. He froze in place, as did Daenerys, and they only reluctantly relaxed once they were sure Gilly could not <em>actually</em> see him. “Thank you for protecting us… and making my friend happy.”</p><p>“Here! Here!” cried out Daenerys, raising her glass… followed by Jorah who discretely took a sip of his, while Gilly and Daenerys toasted each other, smiling. The bubbles got to his nose—how could that be?—and he almost coughed its content. Daenerys laughed, but she was quick to cast her eyes on Gilly to not awaken her suspicions. Yet she did wonder at Jorah’s all too human reaction, and Jorah did too….</p><p>But there was something more momentous at hand: their Christmas feast!</p><p>Gilly and Daenerys ate with such gusto, oohing and aahing on every dish, they looked surprised at their own accomplishment. Of course, there were lots of leftovers… which Samwell Tarly, surely, would be the proud recipient of.</p><p>When it came time to drink their spicy Christmas tea, Gilly surprised her mistress with a rectangular box tied with a big red bow.</p><p>“What? Oh Gilly!… Gilly you shouldn’t have had!”</p><p>“Hush, Daenerys Targaryen, what did I tell you the other day?”</p><p>Chastised and seeing how Gilly could barely contain her joy and pride at gifting her for Christmas, Daenerys smirked then squealed in earnest, grabbing the box and shaking it to try to guess what it was. Even the Captain was intrigued.</p><p>When she finally did untie the ribbon and lifted the cover to the cardboard box, she whooshed aside the silky white paper… and she held her breath! Oh! What a lovely, lovely gift! Daenerys’ hand brushed over the smooth buttery surface before taking out a satchel, a beautiful leather satchel…</p><p>“To hold your manuscript, Daenerys, when you go to the publisher!” explained Gilly.</p><p>“Gilly! Oh Gilly!” Daenerys was teary-eyed, making Jorah emotional too. No one had ever gifted her with a present celebrating… celebrating her accomplishments. “But where, how…?” she started to ask Gilly.</p><p>“Will you believe this treasure was accumulating dust at Baratheon, Bolton &amp; Tarly? No one was using it. I asked Samwell if I could <em>relieve</em> him of it,” she explained, smirking. “All it needed was a few repairs, a nice polish and ta-dam!”</p><p>“I’ll proudly use it, I will!” Daenerys fused, smiling at her friend before hugging her.</p><p>“Promise to use it often, then, Milady, to bring as many books to the publisher as you can muster in your lifetime?”</p><p>“As many as I can muster in my lifetime,” Daenerys promised, “and then some, thanks to the Captain!” she added, to make them both laugh, before she smiled towards Jorah, over Gilly’s shoulder.</p><p>When it came time for Gilly to leave, Daenerys fussed with the mohair tartan shawl and beautiful brooch, her last, she had just gifted her, making sure it sat well on her shoulders and enhanced her port. Of course, she knew Samwell would only see the sparkling jewel of her friend’s eyes, but if Gilly felt beautiful then her eyes would sparkle even more!</p><p>“Daenerys, are you sure you don’t want to come—”</p><p>“I am my dear, I’ll be fine here… I have a book to finish, you know!” Daenerys whispered joyfully, brushing her nose to Gilly’s.</p><p>“All right, then. If you’re sure?”</p><p>Of course, she was. One glance towards Jorah made her heart flutter anew. He stood there, all aglow and golden in his dark seamen garb, backlit by the Christmas tree he had so graciously decorated, and Daenerys thought he was the best Christmas gift ever.</p><p>When it came time for Gilly to leave, Daenerys walked down the front porch with her, in the crisp winter air, and she whispered in her ear: “Gilly, if a snowstorm were to close the road back to Keep Cottage after mass, I’m entrusting you to Mr Tarly…”</p><p>“Oh!” Gilly giggled, “Really! Shush!” And she left, almost running towards Samwell waiting for her down the drive-way.</p><p>“A snowstorm, you say, madam?” the Captain whispered, mock-seriously, appearing next to Daenerys on the veranda.</p><p>“Yes, if you can manage it?” she answered matter-of-factly, while waving goodbye to Gilly. And then, noticing Samwell’s ride: “Oh! a horse-drawn sleigh!” she exclaimed, remembering Jorah’s admonition.</p><p>“It seems Samwell Tarly has the making of a Romantic, after all!” concluded Jorah, making Daenerys smile in turn.</p><p>When they found themselves alone, Samwell’s sleigh disappearing from view down Lighthouse Road, Daenerys turned to Jorah. And he turned to her.</p><p>They just smiled then, and relished the moment… listening to the wind, and the winter owl, and the faraway waves of the ocean.</p><p>“Aren’t you a wee bit cold, my darling?” Jorah rumbled with love.</p><p>Gazing at Jorah, Daenerys answered <em>no</em> with her eyes, <em>never with you</em>. But then she whispered <em>maybe</em> with her ruby lips, and she made her Captain smirk.</p><p>Jorah hovered more closely then, to warm his Lady, and let his eyes peruse her lovely figure, before he ushered her into the house.</p><p><em>Their </em>Christmas was awaiting them.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. One more hour</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Daenerys believes she has planned the perfect Christmas Eve to share with her Captain, but events do not unfold as she thought they would. And yet, and yet...</p>
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p><strong>THE KEEP - </strong> <strong>CHAPTER 8</strong></p><p> </p><p>“Have you ever danced, Captain?” Daenerys asked, once they got back inside.</p><p>She had just waved Gilly goodbye as her friend left the Keep for Midnight Mass with Samwell Tarly, and was not expecting her back until after the snowstorm that would rage all night… if Jorah abided by her wish.</p><p>And how she hoped that he would! Because she wanted Jorah all to herself tonight.</p><p>“Captain?” she repeated, smiling as he was putting the finishing touch to the lighting of their Christmas tree. Daenerys waited and then she had to bit her lip, seeing her dashing host turn his glance to her, looking quite lost for words.</p><p>Could he be more endearing? She hid her smile and activated the Victrola to fill the air with the sound of an old-fashioned waltz. It turned the parlour into a magical music box.</p><p>“Don’t worry,” Daenerys whispered softly, as she glided towards him, the lights casting a soft glow upon her, “neither have I, not really. My husband abhorred dancing.”</p><p>She raised her arms to Jorah, inviting him closer, but…</p><p>“Daenerys, we shouldn’t, the full moon is almost upon us and…”</p><p>“But it isn’t yet, is it? Come.”</p><p>And how could he refuse? She looked like an angel in her dreamy Edwardian dress, with her hair raised into a twirl of tresses but for one long strand, curling down on the slope of her naked shoulder. She looked… otherworldly. To him—a ghost! He dared not even breathe next to her. And yet, when he did, her scent chained him to her. Oh! What new concoction had she discovered and perfected to her skin in his alembic?</p><p>Very carefully, Jorah laid his hands upon Daenerys, just grazing her, his blueish touch mingling with her reddish glow, their pheromones flirting invisibly, and both smiled, amazed at the sensation.</p><p>“Daenerys, is there… an explanation for…?” Jorah whispered.</p><p>“My mother used to say, I have the blood of the Dragon in me, Captain. Death may think you are Ice, but I am Fire. Do you need more explanation than this?”</p><p>Jorah nodded no: she was truly his pixie, then. A miracle come true, come to save him from eternal longing and solitude.</p><p>And might <em>he</em> be the answer to her dreams too?</p><p>They stayed this way, just revelling in their almost-touch, and forgetting to dance. Instead, the room swirled ‘round them, as they gazed into each other’s eyes, their fingers barely moving yet almost intertwining, and their lips dying to touch.</p><p>Time passed in this manner, exquisitely, upon the lyrics swaying through their hearts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One more hour<br/>
One more day<br/>
One more midnight<br/>
Fade away…</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Until the record reached its last groove and skipped and skipped and skipped.</p><p>“The music,” Daenerys managed to say.</p><p>“Let me,” the Captain answered.</p><p>And when, magically, the music started anew, Jorah spun his Love into a dance. They waltzed and waltzed around the Christmas tree; so many times, years maybe elapsed, and more years would have followed—had the Captain not spoken suddenly, as they still danced in each other’s arms.</p><p>“I have a gift for you, Khaleesi,” he said, his Adam’s apple bobbing noticeably.</p><p>“Oh! but I know what it is, my darling,” Daenerys breathed next to Jorah’s ear before looking up at him with amorous eyes. “You could not wait, could you? Weaving that dream of us on your schooner! Making me journey through it, and you meeting me there… for us to become one, truly, finally?”</p><p>Jorah was lost, not comprehending Daenerys’ allusion; but she seemed so happy, he just listened to her, spinning ‘round and getting dizzier and dizzier. Not from their dance but from realising that Daenerys had dreamed of them. And yet, the more she spoke, the less he understood.</p><p>Until he did.</p><p>“Our honeymoon, my darling?” Jorah questioned. “You dreamt of us?”</p><p>“Yes! Yes, Jorah! Do you recall? I had fallen asleep, on our sailing boat…”</p><p>“In the Tyrrhenian Sea…”</p><p>“Yes, of course, and…”</p><p>And Daenerys began to recount the details of her dream, the dream she was sure Jorah had gifted her… but which he hadn’t. And the more she spoke of it, describing it with eyes aglow and her heart beating so, next to his, the more Jorah felt himself moved until, strangely perhaps, her words upset him and he began to feel heartbroken. He had wished for her to dream of them, yes, but he felt estranged from her experience. The Jorah she was describing had brought her such a wealth of sensations. But it wasn’t him; not really…</p><p>How excruciating to hear her describe the way she had slipped her fingers through his curls and the way “he” leaned into her caress, and then her fright and his embrace. Him, <em>this other him</em>, feeling her in his arms. His real arms. And he had kissed her hair, and he had swept her off her feet. This Jorah that <em>he</em> would never, ever be!</p><p>Jorah was so shaken, he forgot to attend to the Victrola when the music stopped. Smiling, unawares, Daenerys left his arms to change the record herself and when she turned once more to Jorah, he took a few steps back, almost afraid, as she continued her tale. It was beautiful, and her voice more beautiful still, but she was so enraptured, it seemed to blind her to his suffering.</p><p>Which he felt ashamed of!</p><p>Oh! why couldn’t he play along? Why couldn’t he just rejoice in his Lady finding felicity and passion? It’s what he wished for her and she… she was telling him he had gifted her love and she hoped to join him again in dream. Again, and again, and <em>again</em>.</p><p>The sheer bliss on her features as she whispered the word, it was… she was… <em>Oh Daenerys! </em>In the end, it was too much to bear—Jorah <em>had</em> to interrupt her.</p><p>“I didn’t gift you this dream, my darling,” the Captain heard himself whisper to his Lady.</p><p>“What?” Daenerys blinked, confused. “Of course, you did!” she exclaimed. And then, finally noticing the hurt in Jorah’s eyes, she blurted out: “Or, or I gifted it to us, no matter!”</p><p>“I wasn’t there with you.”</p><p><em>Oh, please no!</em> Daenerys was desperate to make amends, understanding diffusely the schism which Jorah felt between himself and his double. She raced to find the right words, but failed to be quick enough. Jorah spoke first.</p><p>“My love,” he whispered, honestly, amorously, walking once more very close to her, “it’s a beautiful dream. And I hope… I hope you find your captain again.” He tried to say more but his voice caught. And then, looking down, he took out a small box from his pocket and lifted his eyes once more to Daenerys.</p><p>“I had business in town.”</p><p>How forlorn his voice was, repeating the words he had uttered the preceding morn’— jesting, or so Daenerys had thought. She had not guessed the mission Jorah had set for himself, and accomplished. But now, she could hear the disappointment in his voice. Like one apologizing for underwhelming. <em>Oh, my Love…</em></p><p>Reluctantly, Daenerys peeled her eyes away from Jorah’s and looked at the beautiful wooden box he held in his hand. It was intricately carved, and looked like it held his heart… Daenerys’ eyes fluttered back to Jorah, tears threatening to pearl on her lashes. She was still reeling from understanding she had hurt him without meaning to. And she was trying to follow his train of thought.</p><p>“<em>This</em> is my gift,” Jorah said. And then, a bit crestfallen: “This <em>was</em> my gift, anyway.” Daenerys felt like damning herself, looking at the sadness emanating from her Captain. “Merry Christmas, Khaleesi,” she heard him whisper as he opened the box to reveal its content.</p><p>
  <em>Her ring, her mother’s ring!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys started, stifling a cry, her hand to her mouth.</p><p>When she lifted her teary eyes to Jorah, he felt like maybe <em>he</em> had won her heart. Like he deserved it more than <em>him</em>, that roguish doppelgänger who had ravished her on a schooner at sea.</p><p>“Jorah!” Daenerys whispered—so moved, her voice and hand were shaking.</p><p>“May I?” he asked her.</p><p>And seeing Daenerys was presenting him with her hand, Jorah slipped the ring back on her finger, the faerie dust of his almost-touch once more glimmering upon her skin.</p><p>In the soft, romantic glow of the parlour, lit only by the Christmas tree and the fire dancing in the fireplace, they looked like lovers betrothed to each other. And wasn’t this what Jorah would have wished? But what a fool he was! To think a ghost could ask a breathing, living woman to be his fiancée…</p><p>And yet, caressing the ring on her finger and smiling up to her Captain—resisting the urge to fall into his arms—this was exactly how Daenerys felt.</p><p>But…</p><p>“Let me take my leave of you now, madam,” Jorah whispered, bowing.</p><p>“What? No!” Daenerys was quick to protest. Trying frantically to keep the Captain by her side, she blurted out: “How did you know to… What magic is this?” she asked him, looking down towards her ring and then up at him, with tears in her eyes.</p><p>“I am a ghost, madam.”</p><p>Such finality in his statement. Such pain and dolorous lucidity in his pronouncing the dreaded word, instead of declaring it was love that enabled him to vanquish the impossible. <em>Yes,</em> Jorah thought: in the end, it was no feat at all, to go into that pawnshop and use an old trick to steal a treasure from a mere mortal. Did it compare to making love on a ship under cerulean skies?</p><p>With no words left to say, Jorah gazed at Daenerys one last time; the adoration he felt, and could not express, shining in the blue of his eyes.</p><p>And then he vanished, into the night.</p><p>
  
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</p><p>Left all alone in the parlour, Daenerys wrung her hands and then, caressing her mother’s ring, she tried to swallow her tears. There was a snowstorm outside. She could see it; so wild across the window, the storm that would keep Gilly away in the arms of the man she loved. It was so perfect; it was so beautiful. As was the parlour, and the glittering Christmas décor which Jorah had conceived for her.</p><p>In a daze, the Lady of the Keep walked to the piano and ran her fingers on its keys, summoning the delicate melody of the waltz they had danced to…</p><p> </p><p><em>One more hour</em> <em><br/>
One more day…<br/>
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</em></p><p>Daenerys sat briefly on the stool, singing the words above the twinkling of her playing:</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>One more midnight</em><br/>
<em>Fade away</em>
  <em><br/>
One more sad song<br/>
Play for me…</em><br/>
<em>Won’t you play</em><br/>
<em>For me?</em>
  <em><br/>
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</p><p>Oh! It could not end this way!</p><p>She had hurt her Captain, over some regretful misunderstanding. And something deeper, yes: this chasm, which he thought unbridgeable between them. But she refused to abandon hope.</p><p>She loved him. Jorah meant everything to her. She was never happier than when she was with him, debating and remaking the World as they wrote. She would look into his eyes, imagine herself in his arms, she…</p><p>
  <em>She loved him. </em>
</p><p>And she would get him to accept her love.</p><p>With assurance, Daenerys rose from the piano and went to blow on the tree’s candles, soon leaving the parlour to climb the grand staircase to her bedroom.</p><p>Their bedroom.</p><p>Once inside, she rekindled the fire and made the room glow, like Jorah had done, on her first evening at the Keep. Of course, he was nowhere to be seen, but she knew he was there. He was simply… licking his wounds and casting his eyes away. She would be patient, and cunning.</p><p>This time, when she came out of her bathroom, she wasn’t wearing the nightgown Jorah had gifted her. No. She was wearing a new one, aqua blue, which she had purchased in town, daring to believe <em>she</em> could be the gift she’d bestow on her Captain for Christmas; a surprise to lure him a little closer. It dawned on her, looking at herself in the mirror, that she appeared as she was in her honeymoon dream of them. And, if it pleased her fantasy lover, might it not also bring Jorah to lay down his arms or, rather, take her in his… or as close to it as their dual faery touch would allow them to? She so wanted Jorah to know how much she loved <em>him</em>, and only him. She would show him <em>her</em> magic.</p><p>The translucid nightgown billowed about Daenerys as she walked slowly to her writing desk—the fabric falling from her shoulders, and her naked thighs showing through the wavy partition of the shimmering veils. Her gait was almost musical as she sashayed in the semi-darkness, which she lit tonight with her very own incandescence.</p><p>No, which she <em>always</em> lighted in this manner, as if her heart was aglow, thought the Captain…</p><p>Because, of course: Jorah was there! He had never, ever, been able to stay away.</p><p>Seeing his Love illuminate their bedchamber like a Temptress, the Captain thought he’d die a second time, a third time, a—Oh! he had died so many times since the arrival of Daenerys at the Keep! But, this evening, this vision of her, was a thousand times worst and a thousand times more enchanting than all the other nights combined.</p><p>She’d keep breaking his heart, wouldn’t she?</p><p>“Jorah…” Daenerys’ soft voice cut through the air, suddenly. “I know you can hear me.”</p><p>Yes, of course he did, but only the wind outside answered her.</p><p>“You remember how I told you about the romance novels I read, as a girl, in my mother’s library? And I thought, for a moment, when my brother promised me to my husband to be, that this could be the start of a wonderful adventure, this marriage to come?”</p><p>Oh yes, he remembered indeed. He remembered every single word she ever told him!</p><p>“Well, I know I looked the part of the ingenue, the naïve waif, the maiden waiting for her prince but… Jorah, in my heart of hearts, if truth be told, I didn’t really believe it.”</p><p>She had to breathe through her parting lips to keep the tears at bay. How regal and heartbroken she looked right now, so like a woman who had known pain while never, ever letting herself feel it. Dear Gods, if only he could wash all of that suffering away!</p><p>“I read all these novels, Jorah, wanting to believe in love and yet… and yet, failing to. Completely.”</p><p>Jorah felt a sword run through him at those words. How she had suffered at an age when her heart and imagination should have soared.</p><p>“And then, I met you.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh! Khaleesi!</em>
</p><p>“And you made everything possible. And now, my darling,” she added, without breaking stride, and slipping a new sheet of paper inside her type-writer, “we have a chapter to finish.”</p><p>She was not going to cry, no. She was not going to, as she waited, listening to the wind howling outside. She even straightened her shoulders, her fingers poised elegantly on the keys waiting for her command.</p><p>“Jorah?” she whispered nonetheless, like a prayer.</p><p><em>Yes…</em> her Captain answered.</p><p>Finally!</p><p>Daenerys was able to breathe then, and swallow the needles prickling her throat.</p><p>
  <em>Yes, Madam, we have a chapter to finish. </em>
</p><p>Oh! How Jorah’s voice came to caress the fall of her back, making the nape of her neck tingle as if a warm breeze had just surprised her there! Daenerys did not turn around, not yet, but her heart swelled, and a smile illuminated her features.</p><p>“Tell me more, will you?” she susurrated, “tell me how our book ends?”</p><p>And Jorah did. Directly into her ear, never reappearing, as if craving the intimacy of her mind. He told her of their love, one endless summer, on a schooner charted for eternity.</p><p>And… when Daenerys sat on her bed, because there were no more words to type, or conjure up on paper, and she let her nightgown slip from her shoulders, a great sigh shook the room. It didn’t belong to her. It belonged to <em>him</em>, to Jorah, her Love. And it reverberated over her skin, and into the very core of her.</p><p>
  <em>What are you doing to me?</em>
</p><p>“I am seducing you, Jorah.”</p><p>
  <em>The Gods have mercy!</em>
</p><p>“And why should they?” Daenerys questioned out loud. “Why should they, these Gods, have mercy on us, when they, themselves, will never know the kind of love we share?”</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi…</em>
</p><p>Jorah’s voice washed over Daenerys, just as he appeared before her eyes. He was over her, in an instant, forcing her to recline on their bed to stay clear of his touch.</p><p>“Daenerys, you know we cannot. You know this!”</p><p>How so very much alive Jorah appeared to her, in this instant! There was only the most subtle shimmer about him. The full moon was so close. It would occur at the stroke of midnight, she knew this, as she knew he’d be most like a real-live man then, and all the more deadly for it. But, in the meantime, they could still… they could still ‘almost-touch’.</p><p>“Tell me more, Jorah. Tell me how it was when we came back to the Keep. Tell me—"</p><p>“Daenerys, no, <em>please</em>!” Jorah exclaimed, walking away from her.</p><p>Oh! Why was he still resisting? Had he not, himself, prepared their bedroom for them to love each other since the very first night? Was he not walking, of his own accord, along the precipice she was taking them to—one more vertiginous than the chalk cliffs of their estate, and giving onto the endless horizon of their love?</p><p>“Jorah,” Daenerys whispered, sliding from the bed and taking a few steps towards him while letting her nightgown slip a shade more from her, slowly, so very slowly, to tease him with her glorious forms.</p><p><em>Gods</em>, Jorah thought: walking towards him, Daenerys was rewriting myths! She was Persephone seducing Hades! She was Rossetti’s <em>Astarte Syriaca</em> approaching slowly, inexorably, towards him, out of the shadows. If the painter had known Daenerys, he would have made his Venus silver-haired. He would have—</p><p>“Take off your wool jacket, Captain.”</p><p>Jorah held his breath upon Daenerys’ words, interrupting his spiralling down into a dizzying train-of-thought.</p><p>
  <em>How could her voice sound so commanding, so sure…</em>
</p><p>“I… I cannot,” Jorah stuttered, taking one more step back.</p><p>“Have you ever tried?”</p><p>
  <em>… and yet so amorous and sweet?</em>
</p><p>He wanted to say no but the word dried up in his throat, and he just shook his head.</p><p>“Then will you? Now, for me?”</p><p>She was pleading him with her eyes, her heart… and her body, so luminous, under the aqua veils she was lowering still. Her skin, so pale and shimmering. She was like nacre found in the most exquisite of seashells. She was—</p><p>Jorah couldn’t breathe anymore. But his hands moved to his lapels, unable to resist Daenerys any further, and he pulled his jacket from his tall frame, making his shoulders roll and feeling lighter for it, feeling like he hadn’t felt in ages. But still—</p><p>“Now unbutton your shirt… or should I do it for you?” Daenerys murmured, almost smirking.</p><p>It was so, so dangerous. If she actually touched him—no! His nostrils flaring and sensing himself perspire—and how could that be?—Jorah obeyed, opening one button at a time, never leaving his Siren’s eyes.</p><p>Daenerys could see the soft golden hair of Jorah’s chest peeking out from his still tucked-in shirt. It ran down to his navel, covering his muscled abdomen and, surely, it continued further down. Where she looked, where he was… Seized with a sudden resurgence of modesty, Daenerys quickly looked up and put one hand to her half-exposed bosom.</p><p>Ah! Jorah thought, Daenerys <em>did</em> know they should not dally! She was trying to cover herself. Did she fear him, after all?… Oh! Why had he come back?</p><p>“Daenerys,” he whispered, his voice breaking.</p><p>But her doubt was fleeting. Already, his Lady was closing the distance between them.</p><p>“Jorah, hush,” she murmured, stopping close to him, to graze his lips anew with her fingers.</p><p><em>Gods,</em> every time she did this… Jorah had to close his eyes. He lost track of time inside Daenerys’ caress, until he felt his left hand tingle. He looked down and saw his Love pull on him, the red shimmer of her almost-touch making him lift his hand to follow hers as she took a few steps back, beckoning him to follow.</p><p>She was bringing them back to her bed… his bed… their bed. She was very gracefully walking up its short ladder to sit on the high mattresses. She was inviting him near her. And Jorah felt himself glide to her, hypnotised.</p><p>“Now, my darling, will you tell me more?” she breathed. “Tell me?… <em>And show me</em>,” approaching her lips to his and letting her fingers graze the golden fur of his chest.</p><p>He ached so. How could she do this to him… He could never, ever give her what a real-live man could. He couldn’t even love her the way his dream-self had! And yet, Jorah felt himself move towards Daenerys, yet again, and so much so, she had to pull back in order to avoid his lips and gruff. But as she reclined from him, so very slowly, she laid herself down, upon her pillows like clouds, and Jorah had no choice but to cover her with his manly form.</p><p>“Show me,” Daenerys breathed again, looking up into Jorah’s eyes. They were so full of love and darkening with desire. She knew these eyes, this stormy shade, she recognized them from her schooner lover. And that Adam’s Apple bobbing, and his breath wavering, and that far-away rumble slowly welling from his throat.</p><p>“Show me how it would have been,” she asked and demanded. “Show me how it <em>could be</em> between us.”</p><p>
  <em>Stop it, stop!</em>
</p><p>But, of course, she wouldn’t.</p><p>“Do you feel this?” she added, striking Jorah to the core, as she lifted her hand to graze his naked chest, turning that knife in his heart and stoking the fire within. The red shimmer of her fingers was electrifying his skin, making him sigh, and making him close his eyes.</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi…</em>
</p><p>She heard it, his silent whisper. Like one final prayer to stop, or, please—never do.</p><p>When Jorah opened his eyes again, Daenerys knew he’d be hers. She raised her lips to his, trailing his heaving breath.</p><p><em>She will cut me down now,</em> the Captain thought.</p><p>“I want you to love me, Jorah. With your almost-touch and the velvet of your voice. Come take what is yours, and which I give freely…”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Neither of them had ever known anything like it.</p><p>Seeing Daenerys’ beauty unveiling itself before his very eyes—feeling Jorah’s body weighing down the bed, like a lover would, right next to her.</p><p>Hearing his words. And hearing her sighs.</p><p>Daenerys’ arousal making her lift her beautiful breasts towards her Captain’s hovering hand—Jorah’s words, immodest, alighting his Love and parting the veils of her nightgown. For him.</p><p>They were almost touching, their bodies so close; so close to one another in their too wide berth. Skin showing under the moonlight as the celestial body rose in the snow flurries which danced beyond the windows. Whispers shared in the warmth of their bedroom between the orange glow of the fireplace and the indigo blue of their bed; the violet shimmer of their combined touch fading, fading, fading as the moon got round, and Jorah became most like a man.</p><p>
  <em>Jorah…</em>
</p><p>“I’m here, my darling,” he whispered in Daenerys’ ear. “How beautiful you are, Khaleesi; you put the Snow Queen to shame, you put all Sorceresses to shame. Say I may… Please let me…”</p><p>
  <em>Let me tell the wind to vanquish your modesty. Let me hunger for your breasts; their buds taunting me. And the silver curls of your Venus mound, more mysterious than Atlantis. Let me… Let me worship you!</em>
</p><p>“Let me tell you how it was between us, that noon hour, in the sun…”</p><p>
  <em>Oh yes, please do, my Love… </em>
</p><p>And Daenerys felt Jorah’s almost-touch glide over her skin, covering it in faery glow and shivers while her own hand came to rest between her thighs… because she had to stop her heart from throbbing in her folds.</p><p>“That day, on deck, you surprised me,” Jorah was telling Daenerys, his hand making some invisible breeze play with her nightgown. “In fact, you pounced on me! How naughty and playful our honeymoon made you; the reigning pixy on board! But I didn’t let you have your way with me. No!”</p><p>Daenerys smiled but whimpered in protest, her eyes shining amorously while gazing at Jorah, and wishing for his voice to weave such a tale, every night, for the rest of her life!</p><p>“You see,” he whispered, his lips grazing the apple of his Lady’s cheekbone, “it had been too long, less than a day but longer than eternity, since I had <em>feasted</em> on you…”</p><p>Oh! The thought of Jorah’s mouth on her intimate flesh sent a lightning bolt through Daenerys and she felt herself jolt, a small gasp leaving her throat. It brought a mysterious smile to Jorah’s lips.</p><p>“Shall I continue?” he rumbled, quite knowing the answer.</p><p>Daenerys could only whimper her yea until she suddenly found her voice again: “Jorah?”</p><p>“Aye, my Love?”</p><p>“If I…” Daenerys’ breath was shaking and her voice not above a whisper. “If I can touch your scarf, your garments, could you not… touch… what hides me still from you?”</p><p>The revelation made Jorah swallow hard, his eyes perusing Daenerys’ offered body. There was an afterthought of aqua veil still caught over the swell of her naked breast, and—</p><p>Oh! how it made both of them moan when Jorah’s kiss came to wet the fabric there, his mouth latching on the rising bud, so hard under his tongue. Desire was colouring it a dusky violet—by the Gods, what magic was this? But Jorah could not think and divine; there was no place for reason, only moans and sighs. How could he resist? He was going to feast upon his Love after all!</p><p>So much so, Jorah had to weave the rest of his tale between daring kisses like bees forage delicately. And he knew how—he had seen enough of them court the blossoms of the Keep’s orchard: a phrase for every flick of his tongue, a sentence, of love, for every caress. How delicately he traced the blueish shimmer of his fingers over the translucid veils still protecting his Love… Carefully, so carefully! How he longed to touch her himself while her hand neared her intimate flesh. Her naked skin was so, so near.</p><p>But he could not.</p><p>“After kissing soft and long, on our schooner… after letting you hope you’d rule over me,” Jorah rasped, “your hand caressed me… and maybe I let myself enjoy your touch a tad longer than necessary—but it made you sigh so, my Love, to feel my desire, I could indulge you a few seconds longer—”</p><p>“Jorah!” Daenerys almost laughed, next to his lips.</p><p>“Hush, my love… if you want more, relinquish! <em>I</em> am weaving this tale…” he smiled into her eyes.</p><p>And she did, sighing, letting his voice pool all over, leading Jorah’s still-glowing fingers along the down of her belly, and begging for him to brush her lower still. It made him clench his teeth, it made him feel, in his phantom loins, the longing for her he had just described—<em>Gods, how could that be?—</em>and it made him rumble the rest of his tale.</p><p>He described how he laid her, so softly, under a canopy, hiding them from the blinding noon-hour sun. They could hear the waves lapping the sides of their schooner as the vessel sliced the blue waters, and he kissed her again, just teasing the plumpness of her lips, and the softness of her tongue, to harvest her breath.</p><p>It was coming short, on their ship, but also in their bed, in this glorious instant, as Daenerys was discovering how very much Jorah desired her—his manhood pulsating against her hand in the warmth of their Christmas night. She was becoming the heroine of his tale, daring in her caresses.</p><p>
  <em>“Jorah!”</em>
</p><p>“Hush… hush, my darling,” Jorah whispered in Daenerys’ ear as he meant for her to imagine his lips gliding over her intimate flesh in the noonday sun, on their ship. His own breath was coming fast, breathing the words in her ear but looking at his hand flow down her rosy skin. It was glowing in the night’s blueish light as his fingers now hovered near her hand keeping guard over her silver curls.</p><p>“My love… <em>touch</em> yourself,” Jorah susurrated, so softly, so warmly, in her ear. “I’ll be right here… Caress what I covet. I want you to know pleasure.” Daenerys’ breath caught on the suggestion: Drogo had never let her know pleasure. She didn’t think he even knew women could experience it. And here was her golden lover telling her he knew of this secret garden, and giving her leave to thread it, holding the door open for her. <em>Oh!</em></p><p>And, as Daenerys accepted her Captain’s invitation, and he saw her fingers swirl on the pink jewel of her secret flesh, Jorah had to let out a deep, deep rumble. His Love was opalescence. She was the queen of pearls. She was moonglow. He couldn’t keep the tip of his fingers from skirting her sex as she, herself, lavished it with her touch.</p><p>Oh to actually taste her! Jorah had to close his eyes and breathe more deeply before speaking again.</p><p>“And from the first flick of my tongue, as my hands roamed under your flowing skirt to pull your hips to my hungry lips and gruff, you called out—”</p><p>“Jorah!” Daenerys cried; in the secret of their bed, and on their ship.</p><p>“Khaleesi…” Jorah had to answer.</p><p>“Please don’t stop,” she whimpered, her head turning to his ear, “My love, I beg you, <em>I beg you…</em>” she heaved, her hips rising to her caress, and his. He couldn’t feel her nectar, but he could see it, glistening on the tip of her fingers, just under his own.</p><p>Had he been a flesh and blood man, he would not have survived this night. And remembering his ghostly nature, Jorah’s heart sunk and it made him rasp, desperate, the rest of his tale.</p><p>“I listened to no entreaty,” he roared, his voice husky and deep, next to Daenerys’ skin, his lips grazing her ear, his profile risking the silk of her mane and his fingers rubbing the wet veil covering one of her breasts. “No plea softened my heart. Though I would have ravished you—and almost did, I shan’t lie—I wanted to taste your rapture, I wanted to gorge myself on your pleasure…”</p><p>
  <em>“Jorah…”</em>
</p><p>“My lips, my mouth savouring, relishing, rampaging your intimate flesh—the pulse of it, my darling… oh Khaleesi, the luscious creaminess of it on my tongue!”</p><p>He couldn’t stop now! He couldn’t stop the words from surging, in a flurry of abandon, in a cascade of unleashed desire. And though he knew the power of his voice on Daenerys, though their almost-touch brought such a wealth of feeling to her flesh, Jorah ached to think his schooner-self had maybe made his Queen soar higher. She was whimpering right now, so beautiful with her mouth half-opened, her lips offered, her heaving bosom commanding his hand to close over the wet fabric still covering it to come claim it, to come pinch her hardening bud, and her body arching, so tense now, chasing her release—so beautiful, <em>so beautiful</em>… but he could not embrace her!</p><p>Oh! That roguish Captain would have shielded himself in his Love, <em>right now</em>, Jorah thought, his mind searing, his flesh even more so—he would have, to feel her coming undone against him, around him, pulsating so until he came himself, with her. Jorah saw him, this double, claiming Daenerys for himself, as she caressed her flesh and swayed her hips. He could almost feel himself ravish her, as he locked eyes with her. But it was his phantom self, thrusting deep, and deeper. Damn him!</p><p>Had Jorah been the one in Daenerys’ dream, he would never, <em>never </em>have let her awaken away from him. Had he been a knight, he would have served her and died for her. Had he been the bear of her cherished faery tale, he would have laid her down in tender cloves and <em>devoured</em> her. And had he been a man, had he been a real-live man, this night…</p><p><em>Oh Gods, but he was becoming too much like one again!</em> The clock was chiming midnight; the full moon was upon him! Jorah saw it through the parting clouds across the window, just as Daenerys was peaking under his caress and hers. He had to pull away now, to protect her from his lethal touch.</p><p>
  <em>No! No let me taste it, let me feel her just one second more.</em>
</p><p>But the blue shimmer left the tips of Jorah’s fingers and, when it did, he breathed in, pulling back from his Love, to protect her… the very second she shattered next to him!</p><p>And a galaxy away.</p><p>Jorah heard his name bloom and die on Daenerys’ lips and he looked at her, the most beautiful sight he was ever going to see. His love soaring, his love reaching the stars, his love dying just a little… to reach him.</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi… </em>
</p><p>He just whispered it and whispered it, so Daenerys could find her way back to him, in their bed, in their night, in the wool of their evening sighs.</p><p>There were tears pearling down her cheeks when she opened her eyes and looked at him. Looked at him, Jorah thought, with so much love, and fuzzy awe, whispering his name, as he pulled on the eiderdown to bundle her body tenderly. She reached out to touch his visage then, but she stopped, just in time, and just before he told her to.</p><p>Daenerys saw her Captain withdraw, murmuring apologies, and she understood: he had taken his deadly form. She could suddenly sense the realness of him, the hard-edge chiaroscuro of his manly bulk, and his wonderful musky smell…</p><p>“Jorah?” she whimpered, a sob threatening to catch in her throat.</p><p>And he was once more over her, in an instant, encircling her without touching her, but peering deep in her eyes.</p><p>“I’m here; I’m right here.”</p><p>“The full moon came?”</p><p>“It did, my love.”</p><p>“Will you stay regardless? I promise I won’t try to touch you, I won’t!”</p><p>And Jorah could only smile tenderly, looking at her hand tremble as it neared him, looking to cup his cheek, and already breaking her vow.</p><p>“Daenerys, the deadliest sea monsters could not drag me away,” he pledged, making her smile, and then, bending to her ear, he whispered there: “My Love, I’m afraid my words of passion might have been…” He meant to say inelegant or too raw, his eyes trying to convey what his words could not anymore, but Daenerys just smiled, a womanly smile, a knowing smile.</p><p>“O Captain, how you pleasured me…” she murmured, risking her fingers closer to Jorah’s lips before taking her hand away, making him sigh as she snuggled inside the covers.</p><p>“Never more than you made me happy, Khaleesi. Never more…”</p><p>Daenerys’ profile was reclining on her pillows to gaze at Jorah from a distance, while he did the same but from higher up, his manly and amorous features gazing down on hers. How dolorous suddenly these few centimetres dividing them; an ocean of midnight blue between their continents.</p><p>“Will you stay with me through the night?”</p><p>There was so much Daenerys wanted to say. How she never wanted this to end, how… how she wished he didn’t look at her with that sadness threatening to wash over him.</p><p>But, instead, it washed over her.</p><p>“What’s to become of us, Jorah?”</p><p>“Of you and me?” He was aching so, suddenly, self-deprecating words left his lips. “Nothing can become of me.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh! She refused to believe that!</em>
</p><p>“Everything’s happened that can happen,” he continued, wistfully, “but not to you!” he breathed, his smile returning, alleviating some of the hurt in his eyes. “And not simply in dreams, my darling, or in the arms of a phantom lover.”</p><p>“And what do you know of ‘phantom lovers,’ and their faerie touch,” Daenerys tried to jest, softly… “My Love, I would not trade yours for all the Kings and Don Juans in the World!”</p><p>Jorah laughed softly and Daenerys thought she had won. He loved her so; she could see it in his eyes.</p><p>“Sleep now, Khaleesi. I shall watch over you through the night.”</p><p>And to prove that he would, he tucked in his Love more carefully still, fussing with the pillows and raising the lace of the linen to Daenerys’ chin, his fingers lingering there, so near her lips.</p><p>“I thank the Gods every night, my Love, when I see you in my bed.”</p><p>
  <em>Oh Jorah…</em>
</p><p>“You won’t go away,” Daenerys whispered, “you promise?”</p><p>Oh, he would have promised her the moon.</p><p>“I do, Madam. Cross my heart.”</p><p>Daenerys closed her eyes then, smiling… and failing to see her Captain’s sorrow as he whispered the rest of his pledge: “Cross my heart—and hope to die.”</p><p> </p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The waltz to which Daenerys and Jorah dance, and which Dany sings, comes from the film RAGTIME and was written by Randy Newman. Do yourself a favor and listen to it :-)</p><p>https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4ORrn3olv2E&amp;ab_channel=RandyNewman-Topic</p>
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<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Glasgow</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Daenerys travels to Glasgow, she meets more that her would-be editor in the person of bestselling writer-adventurer Daario Naharis, and yet, her train ride home proves to be more... eventful.</p>
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</p><p><strong>THE KEEP - </strong> <strong>CHAPTER 9</strong></p><p> </p><p>In the pale blue light of lingering night, Jorah was walking on the front lawn of the estate, in deep reflection. He had whisked away silently, just now, leaving his Love in the arms of Morpheus, after watching over her as she slept so peacefully. Dry snow crackled under his feet while his hand caressed the blue scarf about his throat—absentmindedly.</p><p>Daenerys haunted his thoughts.</p><p>“Jorah,” she had whispered very near slumber, “when we were writing the book, which I am so proud of… I was happy. We were accomplishing something together.” He had smiled at her; he’d been so happy too, these many hours, spinning tales with her. But then Daenerys’ voice had become wistful: “Now, when I try to think about the future… and I see you having to pull away from me, or leave altogether, in moonless nights that last too long, it’s—”</p><p>“It’s all dark and confused?” he asked, though he knew the answer.</p><p>“I’ve had so many of those nights in my old life, in London, where the fog is thick… It’s hard to see ahead, then.”</p><p>“Aye, my Lady, and the foghorn is the loneliest sound I know… like a child lost, and crying in the dark.”</p><p>“But if you believed in us,” Daenerys insisted…</p><p>Oh, he so wanted to believe in this vision of them she held dear! And he meant to tell her… But, this morning, the fog was surrounding <em>him</em>. Quite literally, as he was lost in banks of white mist and dolorous thought, nearing the fountain with its little mermaid of nacre. He had restored it over the Fall because Daenerys thought it too forlorn with her missing arm. He stopped by its figure, and ran his fingers along its waters turned to ice. His touch only made the crystals hiss and tighten their hold on the mermaid. <em>He was a ghost and he could only beget death,</em> he had told Daenerys once.</p><p>But what of the rose bushes, she would tell him, which bloomed violet and not white since her coming? She, Daenerys, the true Lady of the Keep! His love for her had made him beget <em>that</em> miracle. Right now, though, the flowers kept disappearing from view, in the heartless fog swirling about them and him. Yet, their violet colour was still straining to shine through. His hand reached in longing for one of the frozen buds.</p><p>Just then, Jorah’s eye caught some movement above him. He saw Daenerys appear at the bow window! For a second, as she was peering far, towards the ocean, her silver hair falling about her shoulders wrapped in a white woollen shawl, she looked to be a nimbus, a phantom herself.</p><p>“You’ve been working too hard,” he remembered telling her, “cooped up in the house too long. You need a change of scene.”</p><p>“But I love it here!” she had told him, with such passion.</p><p>And now, with his eyes raised to the window, seeing Daenerys enshrined in their beautiful home covered with snow and long icicles, Jorah wondered: was his love now haunting the Keep? She looked to him like he had possibly looked to her when she first arrived at the estate. And this, he could not abide—however much he wanted her.</p><p>“You should be out in the world more… meeting people,” he had whispered, caressing her with his melancholic glance. “Seeing men. Real men.”</p><p>“I have no desire to see men!” she exclaimed with such fervour, from her pillow and into his heart.</p><p>Remembering the vibrancy of Daenerys’ voice, and the ardour in her eyes, while she looked so regal up in their Keep with her glance cast in the distance, Jorah relinquished… and made the sun rise on the horizon. It lavished its golden pink rays on Daenerys’ silhouette, and it made her smile. <em>My Love, so beautiful,</em> Jorah thought. The fog lifted then, and she saw him, in their garden. But he was still hearing their last conversation.</p><p>“But you should, Daenerys. You should know love in the arms of a real man.”</p><p>“I already have. Right here. With you!” she had answered him, so sure of herself.</p><p>And, in a perfect echo to her words, Daenerys blew him a kiss from their bow window… and it made the dawn even brighter. She waved to him, and he did the same, aiming to look as cheerful as her.</p><p>“I love you, Khaleesi. I’ll always love you.”</p><p>That’s what he had whispered, just before she fell asleep.</p><p>And it had to be enough, this morning. He had to share her faith in a future for them…</p><p>The next second, a cheerful yelp surprised him—Gilly was home! From Samwell’s sleigh swooshing through the snow, she was calling to Daenerys, still standing by the window, and she too was waving excitedly to Gilly. Seeing them, Jorah smiled softly.</p><p>Cheerful bells were ringing in faraway Whitecliff. It was Christmas Day, and it would be joyous! He would make sure of it. It’s what Jorah found himself pledging silently as Daenerys smiled to him, one last time, before vanishing happily away. From him.</p><p>**</p><p>The day did unfold magnificently with Gilly inviting Samwell inside; and him accepting; and the Captain remaining on his best behaviour! And, <em>thank goodness,</em> because Daenerys would never have forgiven him had something terrible had befallen… Gilly’s husband!</p><p><em>What?!</em> cried out Daenerys, learning of the news, which in turn made Gilly squeal, leaving both the Captain and Samwell blinking at the volume of feminine rejoicing bouncing off the kitchen walls. The two men even shared a knowing glance which, of course, was not possible. But they had, and Jorah did a double-take while Samwell frowned at what he was not quite sure had happened, or whom he had seen, but wasn’t there anymore. <em>Oh my!</em></p><p>“Well, it’s very simple, you see, Ms Targaryen,” Samwell explained, a few minutes later, trying not to speak with his mouth full of cranberry scones topped with clotted cream—</p><p>“Have some more tea, dear,” suggested Gilly.</p><p>“Yes, my darling,” agreed Samwell… his word of endearment making Daenerys purse her lips to stop herself from smiling. Could these two be any more adorable? she asked Jorah silently, glancing his way. Which only made him roll his eyes. <em>Back to his old self, I see,</em> Daenerys thought, smirking.</p><p>“As we were about to leave the church,” Samwell started explaining, “we saw—”</p><p>“And it was such a beautiful service, Daenerys,” Gilly interrupted again, “I wish you could have been there!”</p><p>“Yes, indeed,” Samwell politely agreed before trying to explain: “But as we were leaving, we observed the dire scope of the snowstorm…”</p><p>“It was terrible, really!” interjected Gilly.</p><p>“Yes! Such a <em>formidable</em> snowstorm!” exclaimed Daenerys, in a mock-serious tone, which made Jorah smile this time, and take a bow.</p><p>“And so, of course, we couldn’t risk it back to the Keep,” Sam continued, “and Miss Gilly, I mean Gilly, simply had to stay in Whitecliff—”</p><p>“The hotels were full. The inns too,” added Gilly.</p><p>“And I wouldn’t have wanted you to stay in one, dear,” Samwell interrupted Gilly, turning to her, “too unsavoury!”</p><p>“You were only thinking of her honour,” proposed Daenerys.</p><p>“Oh indeed, Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>“Please call me Daenerys, Samwell!”</p><p>“Daenerys… and so, of course, I had to offer your friend my humble roof and hospitality—”</p><p>“And bed, you rake,” scoffed Jorah, whom Daenerys scolded with a glance.</p><p>“—and so, of course, we had to get married.”</p><p>“Of course!” concurred Daenerys, nodding seriously, as if Samwell’s train of thought was the epitome of logic… until one look to Gilly, cracking up, made her burst into joyous laughter, followed by her friend.</p><p>“I say, ladies!” Samwell was almost insulted.</p><p>“There, there, my good man,” Jorah exclaimed, in the general direction of Samwell, “women will break your heart, even as you try to do the gentleman thing, it is known!”</p><p>“Oh! It was the gentleman thing to do, Samwell, take comfort,” Daenerys said to soothe his pride, while trying to hide her sideways glance to Jorah. “I am just bursting with joy, and am over the <em>full moon</em> really,” she added, for the benefit of her Captain. “But how did you manage it? The wedding?”</p><p>“Well,” Gilly explained, beaming, “we simply walked back into the church, with half the assembly still huddling there to let the storm pass, and—”</p><p>“We kindly asked the pastor,” Samwell interjected.</p><p>“You bribed him, would be more like it,” rectified Gilly.</p><p>“Eager, were we?” asked Jorah from the wings.</p><p>“Captain!—I mean, Gilly!” Daenerys exclaimed, turning her glance from Jorah to her friend.</p><p>“Well! it’s true, pastor Aemon wanted to leave!” Gilly told Daenerys.</p><p>“He had a turkey waiting for him—Oh! that didn’t come out right,” Samwell added, mostly talking to himself.</p><p>“But we simply had to get married,” concluded Gilly.</p><p>“We did,” concurred Sam.</p><p>“We did,” Gilly repeated softly, turning to Samwell.</p><p>Even Jorah was finding them adorable now, he had to concede, winking at Daenerys… who then oohed, noticing Gilly’s ring. She reached for her friend, only to have her notice her own ring, her mother’s ring, back on her finger—and both women squealed again! Making Sam and the Captain blink once more and have to endure the convoluted and, in the case of Daenerys, fabricated story of how they came into such lovely tokens of love.</p><p>Truly, a perfect day!</p><p>When it was time for high tea, after an afternoon spent on their ice rink singing carols, the conversation moved to Daenerys’—and the Captain’s—novel.</p><p>“Oh! It’s all planned out Gilly!” Daenerys explained. “I’m sailing to the mainland soon and seeing the publishers in Glasgow.”</p><p>“Tacket and Sproule in Great Smith Street,” added Jorah as if, strangely, he could be heard.</p><p>“Tacket and Sproule in Great Smith Street,” repeated Daenerys.</p><p>“Oh! I know them,” exclaimed Samwell! “Now be sure you see Sproule. He’s bound to be partial to your biography of the Captain; he owned a small sailing yacht right here in Whitecliff.”</p><p>“Indeed,” added Jorah, surprised to find Samwell so informed, and helpful. He was warming up to him. “Sproule came in fourth in a club regatta once—”</p><p>“I hear he came in fourth in a club regatta once,” Daenerys repeated to Sam.</p><p>“—and fancies himself as the very devil of a seafaring man!” concluded Jorah.</p><p>Which Daenerys repeated too, making Samwell choke on her use of colourful language! Both Gilly and Daenerys had to dab at the hot tea he spilt on himself. He nonetheless offered to accompany Daenerys on the mailing boat and get her to the train station in Mallaig.</p><p>“Hopefully the sea will cooperate,” he added, concerned.</p><p>“Oh, I wouldn’t worry Samwell, something tells me Neptune himself will watch over us,” Daenerys concluded, casting a sultry look towards Jorah who couldn’t help but stance proudly, his strong chest expanding.</p><p>Daenerys was so excited at the prospect of her professional outing, she found she was almost able to not let herself be distracted by Jorah’s manly presence when they got back to their room. Which was no small feat as the full moon did have a wonderful effect on his appearance, enhancing his physicality and the ‘sensory experience’ he procured, Daenerys tried to rationalise in scientific terms. But attempting to find the right words for it, just made her think more of Jorah—more of her, in his arms, in his almost-arms, and that wouldn’t do, right this hour. Therefore, she spoke a mile a minute and they spent the evening preparing for her voyage, and her interview with the publisher, while Gilly got her things in order. She was only going to spend her days at the Keep from now on.</p><p>Which meant the nights would belong to Daenerys and her Captain. The thought made Daenerys blush, looking secretly to Jorah as he was telling her how to mind her way through Glasgow, gesticulating, and not noticing she wasn’t listening. She sighed then, smitten, making him soon falter, and smile in turn, not exactly sure why, except to express how very, very proud he was of his Lady.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>“I should like to see Mr Sproule, please.”</p><p>“I see you’re back, Mr Naharis.”</p><p>“Obviously.”</p><p>Daario Naharis, explorer <em>extraordinaire</em>—adventurer more like it—was leaning casually on the reception desk of his Glasgow publisher, Tacket &amp; Sproule, expecting nothing less than for the young clerk to fawn all over him. Glancing around the office, a distinguished Victorian affair with oak panelling and dark green leather chairs, Naharis nonetheless set back his attention to the receptionist who seemed to not have moved an iota since having been spoken to.</p><p>“Well, lad, I don’t have all day!”</p><p>“You did miss your 10:15 but I can give you the 10:45. Will you wait then?” the acne-plagued employee said, too young to be impressed.</p><p>Naharis was about to retort something acidic when the most astonishing vision of femininity sashayed in and stopped, right next to him, to face the receptionist. So close, he could in fact smell her perfume. A winter blend, he thought, his senses made acute by all his worldly travels: late-blooming roses and… oh he couldn’t quite identify it. <em>How titillating!</em></p><p>“Will you wait then, Mr Naharis?” the receptionist repeated.</p><p>“Forever if I must,” he answered him, never letting his next conquest out of his sight.</p><p>“I should like to see Mr Sproule, please,” Daenerys said, her port regal, minding her business, yet so very much aware of the gentleman’s glance upon her figure. He was standing rather close to her.</p><p>“Can’t see Mr Sproule without an appointment,” the young clerk informed her.</p><p>“But I have a manuscript.”</p><p>“So you have a manuscript,” he said flatly, “most unusual.”</p><p>Somehow the clerk’s foul attitude—and the fact that he was not in the least impressed by Daenerys’ port and beauty—rubbed Naharis the wrong way. “No more so than your adenoids and your bad manners!” he exclaimed. “Now, take the lady’s name.”</p><p>“Leave your name,” the young man told Daenerys, flatly.</p><p>“Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>“Mrs…”</p><p>“<em>Ms </em>Targaryen,” Daenerys insisted, still not looking at the gent next to her, though he had come to her defence. “Can’t I have just a few moments with Mr Sproule now? I’ve come all the way in from Whitecliff.”</p><p>Seeing that the clerk would not relent, Naharis cleared his throat and affirmed, with a swagger: “Well madam, I had a meeting with Mr Sproule but, as I have all the time in the world, should we switch appointments?”</p><p>Daenerys turned to the stranger then and in one swift look, appraised him well: roguish good looks, dressed in dandy clothes, complacent, dangerous—or he liked to think that he was. With eyes roaming where they shouldn’t. And he clearly thought himself irresistible. Oh! Jorah would have keelhauled him; but she knew how to take care of herself.</p><p>“I don’t understand,” she said. “That’s very good of you, Mr …?”</p><p>“Daario Naharis.”</p><p>“But I’m afraid I can’t—"</p><p>“Now, my dear young woman,” her ‘saviour’ felt he had to lavish upon her, “if you will set aside your book of social graces for just long enough to seize an opportunity that you want very much by merely indulging a small natural selfish instinct.”</p><p>By the Gods, this was surely the longest sentence he had ever uttered, Daenerys thought, trying not to smirk. This gentleman was truly very annoying, as was the simple fact that she was wasting precious seconds thinking that he was. In a word, she found him disturbing; and that was disturbing too.</p><p>They waited like this, eyeing each other—he smiling, she not—while the receptionist alerted his employer.</p><p>*</p><p>“Is it a cookbook?” Sproule exclaimed to his clerk, lifting his head from his desk, swamped with manuscripts. “I hope not another life of Byron. Or is it a book of dreams? And where is Naharis? His new book is terrible… the most awful trash I’ve had to read since—”</p><p>*</p><p>“Without doubt, sir,” Daenerys was saying to Daario Naharis, “you are the most forward gentleman I have ever encountered.”</p><p>“Without doubt.”</p><p>“Ms Targaryen,” the receptionist interrupted, “Mr Sproule will see you now.”</p><p>“Oh, no, no. I couldn’t,” Daenerys exclaimed.</p><p>“It’s quite all right,” Naharis whispered, his eyes locking again with Daenerys’ and somehow, somehow, creeping under her skin. He had her quite transfixed with his hazel eyes and his infuriating self-assurance.</p><p>“Here now, Ms Targaryen. This way?” insisted the clerk. “Mr Sproule is waiting.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Good day, Mr Sproule. I… I have a manuscript,” Daenerys said, opening the leather satchel Gilly gifted her for Christmas.</p><p>Daenerys was nervous but she hid it well. Jorah’s words of encouragement were replaying in her mind. His faith made her stand proud. Yet, Mr Sproule seemed unimpressed behind his portly gait and his monocle.</p><p>“Of course, you have a manuscript,” he sighed. “A million discontented females in the British Isles and every blessed one of them is writing a novel. Don’t tell me what’s in it. I know. Bless my soul, madam, I’ve got to publish this bilge in order to stay in business, but I don’t have to read it. No, madam, I do not. But leave your manuscript here. And now if you’ll pardon me, I’m busy,” Mr Sproule exclaimed, discouraged, and turning his back to Daenerys… who simply saw red. Dragon red!</p><p>“Come back here, you blasted grampus!” she exploded, borrowing her Captain’s lingo.</p><p>“Madam!” Sproule exclaimed, turning around to face Daenerys once more. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re such a nice-looking woman, too.”</p><p>
  <em>Argh!</em>
</p><p>“Oh, I’m ‘terribly’ sorry, Mr Sproule…” Daenerys said, forcing the apologies out of her throat, “but you’re all wrong about the book. It isn’t what you think at all. It’s… It’s a biography. It’s the unvarnished record of a sailor’s life.”</p><p>“A sailor’s life, eh? I ask your pardon, madam… but what do you know about sailors?”</p><p>“Oh, a great deal, believe me,” Daenerys said with gumption.</p><p>“Mmm. Unvarnished, you say? Well, perhaps I have time for a few pages, at that. What’s your name?”</p><p>“Ms Targaryen,” Daenerys smiled.</p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Heh heh heh!” and “Ho ho ho ho!”</p><p>Mr Sproule was enjoying his read, Daenerys could tell, and she had to smirk when his eyes went wide, surely perusing the four-letter word passage. Well then, the honeymoon chapter should have him drop his monocle!</p><p>*</p><p>“I have been waiting here for three hours. I consider it outrageous!” a visiting writer was complaining to the young clerk, who remained unmoved.</p><p>Nearby, sitting—nay, lounging about, Naharis spoke out.</p><p>“If I were you, my dear fellow, I wouldn’t wait around!” And then, to the receptionist, “But <em>you</em>, you could send for a luncheon! I believe Ms Targaryen and your employer will soon be hungry. I do feel a twinge myself.”</p><p>*</p><p>“Well! You’re not going to pretend that you wrote this!” exclaimed Mr Sproule to Daenerys, closing her manuscript with flourish. “No!”</p><p>“Oh, haven’t I, Mr Sproule?” asked Daenerys, from across his desk with a daring smile. “But you’re right, I wrote it with the ‘subject’ and, what a man he is!”</p><p>“Is he… Is he your husband, Ms Targaryen?” Sproule asked her, narrowing his eyes with kindness.</p><p>“No,” she whispered, suddenly flustered, and she had to lower her eyes.</p><p><em>Oh!</em> thought the publisher, believing he understood what was afoot. “This Captain X, I’d like very much to meet him,” he nonetheless ventured.</p><p>“Oh, I’m afraid that’s impossible. He’s… He’s away,” stuttered Daenerys.</p><p>“On a voyage, of course,” the publisher said, to help Daenerys.</p><p>“Yes. A very long voyage,” she answered, not lying… The truth was painful enough.</p><p>“Well, what a yarn, Ms Targaryen. What a life!” Mr Sproule exclaimed, getting to his feet and coming ’round his desk, having come to a decision. “I’ll tell you a secret. If I hadn’t had a mother and two sisters to support… I’d have gone to sea myself.”</p><p>Daenerys smiled secretly. Of course, she knew this. Jorah had let on.</p><p>“Bless my soul, to live like that!” Sproule continued, leaning towards Daenerys. “Instead of sitting here turning out indigestible reading matter for a bilious public. Tsk tsk tsk! Of course, we’ll publish it, Ms Targaryen. Now, you’re empowered by the captain to act for him? And… possibly write some more?” the beaming publisher added.</p><p>“Oh! Yes!” Daenerys exclaimed joyfully. “He’s given me the rights.”</p><p>“Good,” Sproule said, inviting his soon-to-be favourite client to follow him to the door of his office. “Well, my dear… you presented me with a most enjoyable day. Bless my soul, yes, remarkable. Now, you just leave everything to me and be happy that you know such a man. There aren’t many like him these days. You appreciate that?”</p><p><em>Oh! She did. </em>And <em>that </em>was an understatement<em>, </em>thought Daenerys. But her voice was demure when she answered.</p><p>“Yes, I think so. Well, goodbye, Mr Sproule.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Ms Targaryen. And… my dear?” he added more seriously, leaning into Daenerys: “Your writing is sublime.”</p><p><em>Oh,</em> blushed the Targaryen heir.</p><p>Stepping out of the office, Daenerys took her leave of the receptionist, nodding her thanks to Mr Naharis, though she was surprised to see he had waited all this while. He was still sitting in the waiting room, looking quite content, as she walked to the door with a spring in her gait.</p><p>“Mr Naharis, Mr Sproule will see you now,” the receptionist called out.</p><p>But the writer had a very different appointment he meant to keep.</p><p>*</p><p>When Daario stepped outside of the publisher’s grand building, he almost bumped into Daenerys. She was waiting under the portico for the rain to stop. Leaning into her, the adventurer boomed with a cheerful voice, over the din of the busy street: “It’s easy to understand why the most beautiful poems about the British Isles in the spring were written by poets living in Italy at the time.”</p><p>Daenerys smirked and turned towards her… benefactor.</p><p>“How do you do?” he spoke again. “I’m not a poet, but I’ve got an umbrella… and your hat, if I may say so, is singularly inadequate under the circumstances.”</p><p>Daenerys’ coiffe was indeed made of fox fur and the rain would ruin it.</p><p>“I come from snow, Mr Naharis,” answered Daenerys, a bit haughtily. “I didn’t bargain for this <em>blasted</em> rain.”</p><p>The word did make Daario raise an eyebrow. And smirk. <em>Well, well, well… she was a live one!</em></p><p>“That is,” Daenerys corrected, “I’m afraid I shall be late and miss the last train for home.”</p><p>“I could call you a cab… if you ask nicely.” And as one was presently passing by, he called for it, and held the door opened for Daenerys.</p><p>“Where to?” Daario asked her, pretending not to notice how hesitant and annoyed she looked.</p><p>“Central station.”</p><p>“Central station. What a coincidence,” he said gaily and then, to the driver, sitting above the horse-drawn carriage: “You’ve heard the lady, cabby!”</p><p>Daenerys was reluctant but that rain was not relenting. Daario extended his hand to her. “I know you won’t mind sharing my cab with me, will you?” he asked her.</p><p>“Not at all,” she decided regally, hoping her scowl would have made her Captain proud. She let herself be helped into the carriage but, once inside, Daenerys found herself jostled towards Mr Naharis and the feeling was most… unpleasant.</p><p>“The word you’re looking for is brass,” Daario suggested, leaning in casually towards Daenerys.</p><p>“Brass?”</p><p>“To describe my behaviour and me. You don’t approve of either, do you?”</p><p>“Not very much, no,” Daenerys admitted, glad to be afforded the opportunity to speak truthfully. “Still, in a way, I should be grateful to you.”</p><p>“Of course… Why?”</p><p>“Because Mr Sproule has agreed to publish my book,” she stated, quite proudly.</p><p>“Splendid. So, the old boy has developed a weakness for feminine literature, has he? I can’t say that it’s one of mine.”</p><p>Daenerys had to take a deep breath before turning to her companion.</p><p>“This book might surprise you,” she almost hissed.</p><p>“It’s surprising enough to find a lady author infinitely more exciting than her heroine could possibly be.”</p><p><em>He. Was. So. Forward! </em>Daenerys could just imagine what Jorah would have said: “Mind your tongue!” Instead, she went about chastising her travelling companion in a more oblique fashion.</p><p>“Do you write, Mr, uh… I’m afraid I forgot your name.”</p><p>“My name is Daario Naharis. Yes, I write a little. Travel journals; adventure yarns.”</p><p>“Adventure yarns? You?” Daenerys smirked, almost with contempt, looking at the fineries he was wearing.</p><p>“You seem dubious. I assure you my books are bestsellers across the whole of the British Empire.”</p><p>“You mean to armchair travellers… such as yourself?”</p><p>Daario froze.</p><p>“Your nails, Mr Naharis,” Daenerys explained. “They give you away. They’re… polished.” Oh, that smirk of hers was screaming <em>touché!</em></p><p>But, instead of feeling struck down, Daario Naharis simply laughed.</p><p>“You’ve found me out, Ms Targaryen, but I assure you,” he whispered seductively, suddenly leaning in towards her, “I <em>have</em> travelled the wilderness, gazed upon its wonders and did, once or twice, domesticate its most contumacious beauties.”</p><p>For a second, Daario’s playful predatorial stance reminded Daenerys of… of… Or maybe not. But he somehow invaded her senses. He was too real, all of a sudden, and—</p><p>“And what does your husband do for a living, Ms Targaryen?” Daario asked, following a private train-of-thought.</p><p>“My husband is dead,” she told him flatly, like a slap to silence him. Yet it left her feeling strangely vulnerable and that is <em>not </em>how she wanted to feel.</p><p>“Oh!” she heard him say, the understated sense of victory in his voice biting at her heart.</p><p>“Oh?” she echoed, turning to appraise him once more.</p><p>But he did not go for the kill. He just looked at her with… a strange kindness. How annoying! As were his soft hazel eyes.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>***</em>
</p><p>Daenerys was walking swiftly along the station’s quay, preceded by her benefactor who suddenly stopped and turned to her, catching her body as she slammed into him. He was as tall as… as Jorah, and his eyes fell to her lips in a way she recognized as her Captain’s. It brought a blush to her cheeks and she cursed herself for thinking this dandy could even compare to the man she loved.</p><p>“Here’s an empty compartment,” he murmured before disengaging himself from her and helping her aboard. “Well, goodbye, Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>“Goodbye, Mr Naharis,” Daenerys heard herself say, wondering if her voice was even, “and thank you very much.”</p><p>“Not at all. Are you all right?”</p><p>Her smile faltered and she blushed again.</p><p>“Oh, yes, quite all right. Goodbye and thank you.”</p><p>*</p><p>When the train’s engine began chugging, Daenerys was glad for it. She hoped she would never see this Daario Naharis again.</p><p>“Ahoy!”</p><p>Daenerys was so deep in thought, she failed to hear the joyful greeting.</p><p>“Care for some company?”</p><p>“Oh!” Daenerys gasped, snapping out of her reverie, and finding herself simply gobsmacked at seeing… Jorah, sitting in the bunk facing hers! <em>He could travel!</em> she exclaimed happily, to herself. And how good he looked, simply sitting there with the sun rays flickering on his golden form. He looked alive, Daenerys thought, her heart constricting a little. Yet, her voice was almost chiding when she spoke out loud: “Have you been eavesdropping, Captain?”</p><p>“Feminine literature,” Jorah huffed, not noticing. “What’s he mean, feminine literature?”</p><p>“Mr Naharis had no way of knowing the book was about you,” Daenerys answered, excusing Daario, and surprising herself for doing so.</p><p>“Brass, he said!” Jorah scoffed. “I’ll polish his brass for him. And the way he was smirking at you…” he added, changing seats and taking the space next to Daenerys, “… like a cat at a fishmonger’s. You should have slapped his face.”</p><p>“Why? I found him rather charming.”</p><p>That wasn’t <em>really</em> true, but Daenerys wanted to see where this conversation was going.</p><p>“Rather charming?! Khaleesi, now you’re starting to talk like him.”</p><p>“How in <em>blazes</em> do you want me to talk?”</p><p>“That’s better,” he smiled softly, quite content.</p><p>“I think you’re being extremely childish,” she objected for show, her own smile creeping up.</p><p>The train was rushing them away from the city, along the river Clyde; swaying them towards each other, which they didn’t mind at all.</p><p>“Still, you should have pushed him out of the cab. In another minute, I would have.”</p><p>“Why, Captain, I believe you’re jealous.” Daenerys was looking straight at Jorah now, quite amused.</p><p>“Of course, I’m not jealous!” he exclaimed with Shakespearian flair. “Do you take me for a blasted schoolboy? Besides, jealousy is a disease of the flesh.”</p><p>He shouldn’t have said that. A loaded silence hung between them, altering the mood, until Daenerys spoke again.</p><p>“I’ve never known you to be so disagreeable… today of all days.”</p><p>“What’s so wonderful about today?”</p><p>“The book, Jorah. Mr Sproule liked the book!” she beamed.</p><p>Yet, Jorah grumbled: “Of course he liked it.”</p><p>“And he laughed! And he was appalled! In all the right places too!” Daenerys exclaimed, her eyes sparkling. “Oh! I wish you could have been there!’ she added with conviction, leaning towards Jorah. “And now I can buy the house. Just as we planned. And Mr Sproule commissioned me—us I mean—further novels! We can make a collection of your adventures!”</p><p>Looking at Daenerys, talking so enthusiastically, Jorah looked about to beam too but, instead, he dug his feet in: “Well! I’m not sure I want to write more books! Not if you’re going to come back to Glasgow and suffer the next scheming <em>Beau Brummel</em> who trips all over himself just so you can notice him!”</p><p>“Jorah Mormont, you stop sulking. You yourself said that I should mix with people. That I should see… men.”</p><p>“I said men, not perfumed parlour snakes.”</p><p>“He’s a man and a very nice one.”</p><p><em>Why was she provoking him? </em>Daenerys wondered, slightly aghast at herself.</p><p>“Anyway, I shall never see him again!” she concluded, with finality.</p><p>Before Jorah could retort, an elderly gentleman with walrus moustaches pulled their compartment door open.</p><p>“Humph,” he grunted, glaring at Daenerys who was not moving to accommodate him.</p><p>“Cheer off, you blasted mud turtle! There’s no room!” she meant to exclaim, but never did, since Jorah took care of it himself.</p><p>“I beg your pardon, madam?!” the old man exclaimed, quite shocked, before pulling the door shut with a bang.</p><p>Daenerys looked at Jorah, and he at her—and both started to laugh in earnest… before turning their attention to the romantic scenery gracing the unfolding vista along the West Highland railway line. They took turns inventing stories to fit the occasional deer or romantic dwelling dotting the landscape.</p><p>The countryside was so beautiful! Daenerys relished how the roaring of the great mechanical beast was rushing them North, towards their home. She was swaying, following the wobbly rhythms of their wagon, and she smiled when she felt Jorah adjust his arm to let her body moor itself next to his. They could touch this way—they were, after all, fully clothed. And yet, how softly thrilling to feel their bodies vibrate in unison and find each other. Daenerys realized she could fall asleep, cradled in this fashion, ensconced in the warmth of Jorah’s frame and lulled by his low vibrating voice. Once or twice, she half turned her head and looked up towards him, just to dream of his lips and smile into his eyes. Or was it him, diving into the violet of hers and dreaming of harvesting her sighs? Regardless, the Captain had to hold his in when Daenerys turned back her profile to the window.</p><p>If only eternity could be made to feel this way, sensuous and groggy, aboard a train bound for infinity. Jorah would not baulk anymore at being dead, not if it meant he could travel with his Lady and hold her close to him until the end of days. His lips were almost brushing her hair as he was lost in thought, and he sighed after all, but his sigh was content and strangely happy. They could see a castle in the distance and he began to tell Daenerys of its legend.</p><p>She, in turn, didn’t remember seeing this otherworldly apparition when she first travelled through Scotland and—</p><p>Oh! Daenerys told herself, this is where she had surely fallen asleep on her first journey! Fallen asleep and dreamt. And she remembered her dream now! Her wonderful, overwhelming, immodest dream telling her she was rushing towards freedom, towards herself and, suddenly, she realized she had been dreaming of Jorah, her body soaring with his, taken over by him in… in such a rush of passion. She had awoken with a start, out of breath and on the brink of pleasure and —Oh! By all the Gods old and new, she had dreamt of Jorah before knowing him! <em>How wondrous! </em></p><p>Reliving the moment, her heart beating wildly, Daenerys turned to her Captain, startling him.</p><p>“Khaleesi?” Jorah asked, interrupting his tale. Daenerys looked so amazed and voluptuous, his voice caught in his throat.</p><p>“Jorah”—how breathy his name on her lips—“did you, once upon a time, often travel… by train?”</p><p>Why did this feel like a tricked question?</p><p>“Not… inordinately,” he answered cautiously.</p><p>“With a lover?”</p><p>“Madam!?” Jorah was quick to exclaim, tensing up a bit comically given the forwardness of his Lady’s inquiry. Her hand was resting on his chest, surely to steady herself as the wagon was wobbling dangerously, but it was also making him aware of his heartbeat.</p><p><em>His heartbeat</em>, what befuddling illusion was this?</p><p>“Are you sure, Captain?” Daenerys was cocking her head, lips parting and her long lashes fluttering, surely to bait him… Jorah made a mental note to forgo romantic anecdotes about haunted castles from now on. At least during train rides.</p><p>“You see, I had a dream.”</p><p>“A dream?” Jorah echoed, somewhat absentmindedly, as Daenerys was now moving closer. Moving closer and letting her hand glide down his dark naval suit, over his chest and abdomen, unbuttoning his jacket…</p><p>“Yes, of you and I, on this very train, my Love,” Daenerys explained… before lifting her leg to straddle him!</p><p>“Daenerys!”</p><p>She wasn’t touching him anymore, not with her hands at any rate, as her fingers were occupied with the skirt of her dress, raising it as it were, so her thighs could snuggle his.</p><p><em>Seven hells, what glory was this?</em> Jorah exclaimed silently, realizing too late he had meant to say ‘Heaven on Earth, what hell was this’…</p><p>“Madam, I—”</p><p>“I’m not touching you, my darling.”</p><p>“Khaleesi, I can feel your naked thighs—”</p><p>What an item they made. She, quite the dainty vixen, and he, the grumpy sufferer. Though, who were they fooling?</p><p>The warm skin of Daenerys’ inner thighs was indeed burning Jorah through his formal slacks. Daenerys knew this. She knew he could feel her. And she knew he welcomed it. Yet, she ventured to taunt him.</p><p>“Can you truly… <em>feel my naked skin</em>?” Daenerys asked, quite melodiously, while also mocking him, gently. “But I’m wearing stockings…” she insisted, slowly swaying now, with the wobbly wagon, all along what she craved.</p><p>“I can,” Jorah was slow and thick to answer, his breath wavering low and having to close his eyes for a second. And when he opened them, Daenerys’ lovely visage was hovering over his, her lips so near he could have plucked them.</p><p>“Madam,” he nonetheless managed to susurrate, with some sense of composure, “do remember that your silk stockings only run mid-thigh, and hook themselves delicately upon garters tied to your midnight blue corset… which matches your dress.”</p><p><em>Mmmm</em>. How Daenerys loved the very fact that Jorah did not lose his oratory prowess, and the rumble in his “r”s, even as all the blood in his phantom self was converging to the one part of him presently called to perform.</p><p>“Captain Jorah Mormont, was there <em>one</em> morning when you did not watch me dress?” Daenerys answered, the loveliest smirk illuminating her features while she swayed her hips upon the hardness she meant to claim, and ran her hands over the expanse of Jorah’s chest until she grasped his shoulders.</p><p>Oh, he was doomed.</p><p>So why not relinquish? It’s what he craved, he could not hide it. His hardening core was a dead giveaway, as were the set of his jaw and his deep intake of air. Daenerys was drinking the whole of him up and yet, he still needed to be the voice of reason.</p><p>“It’s so dangerous, Khaleesi.” He knew Daenerys did not mean to dally, not fully, as their joining would be fatal. And though he longed—nay, thirsted and hungered— to see her soar again and take pleasure from him… they were on a train, in an unlocked compartment and any second: “Someone could walk in, my Love, or walk by!” Jorah declared, casting a quick glance at the glass partitions separating them from the corridor. If only they had lowered the blinds and bolted the door and—</p><p>“Well then,” Daenerys declared, interrupting his train of thought while lowering her lips to his ear: “we’ll be quick!”</p><p>
  <em>Daenerys!</em>
</p><p>Oh! How self-assured her tone and naughty her smile when she peered once more into Jorah’s eyes. She was almost purring as she skirted his gruff with her cheek, breathing in his manly scent and pressing herself on his shielded and yet unmistakable manhood rising to the occasion. One single sway told her all she needed to know. “I believe, Captain, I have everything I need right here, right now.”</p><p>Jorah opened his mouth to protest again but, suddenly, they entered a tunnel and, in the flickering light, he saw Daenerys’ face gracefully swoop down to his, her lips, glossy and violet in the half-light.</p><p>“Jorah, take me.”</p><p><em>Oh Gods!</em> Daenerys’ words seized him whole, lightning running through his limbs and making him jolt towards her secret flesh. He craved her so. He loved her so! And therefore, of course, he was <em>so </em>going to give his Queen everything and anything she desired!</p><p>Both Jorah’s hands grasped the seat, his knuckles turning white, to stop himself from taking Daenerys in his arms and kiss her, kiss her madly… but he did buck her way and move his lips towards hers, swallowing hard before finding his pride again. Because two could tango.</p><p>“Well now, Madam, hold on tight,” he whispered, his jaw clenching… “while I give you what you need.”</p><p>And Daenerys did, fighting a triumphant whimper, while her eyes lit up with such regal and playful dominion. Her fingers dug deep into Jorah’s lapels to anchor her body to his and she welcomed her Captain’s assured upwards assault, the train’s motion guiding their tryst.</p><p>Was the locomotive building up speed? It seemed they came in and out of tunnels at a furious pace, darkening their compartment except for the stroboscopic play of light still framing Daenerys’ enraptured features as she was giving herself over to luscious lust. A lust for life, for freedom, exalting in unbridled desire, fuelled by her formidable Captain’s love! There were beads of sweat pearling on her skin, as she rode him for friction, her soft moans giving off such warm vibrations, Jorah had to close his eyes again, his hands threatening to splinter their seat. His Lady didn’t mean to—or did she?—but her swaying was pushing her décolletage towards him, towards his lips, towards his hungry mouth.</p><p>“Khaleesi!” Jorah had to plead, amazed at discovering how violently Daenerys was awakening his dormant flesh.</p><p>“Captain?” she answered back—softly, amorously, but never stopping the lovely frottage her body needed. <em>This was torture, it was,</em> thought Jorah. And then, it got worse, as a jolt from the train slammed Daenerys down on his iron hard admiration. He couldn’t help it then, he couldn’t! His hands went to grab Daenerys’ waist to keep her to him. To bring her to him regardless of the contrary whims of the rocking train. Jorah’s herculean grip made Daenerys bite her lip with relish as it… freed her hands to unbutton the sheer part of her bustier. She needed to breathe and sigh and lift the roundness of her bosom from the constraint of her corset. She heard a roar then and felt herself being pulled towards Jorah’s chest.</p><p>“Khaleesi!” her Lover growled, in feral agony, his embrace forcing his Lady <em>down</em> towards his imperious thrusting.</p><p>The shock felt so good, Daenerys had to throw her head back, the friction igniting her and making her too creamy for words.</p><p>“Jorah…” she mewled seductively, wantonly, so pliant in Jorah’s arms as she swayed and bucked, intoxicating him with her beauty and scent. The sweetness of her sweat, the perfume she wore, those crushed autumn roses which Jorah recognized as his, but then all the rest of it, the erotic declination of her carnal spell which she perfected in his secret alembic: spikes of clove, raspberry and black currant… and laid in incense, that of her very skin, aroused and lustful! It was blooming from her, heady and sensuous, in the groove between her breasts, now spilling towards him, glorious and perky from between the folds of her parting dress… and rising from her sex, so moist upon his breeches. Jorah had to moan then and pull his Lady to her, making her arch her back and bringing her hardening buds to his lips and gruff!</p><p><em>Gods, please!</em> Seeing her so offered, Jorah had to roar again, his hands fisting on Daenerys’ dress.</p><p>“Khaleesi, look at me!” he rumbled, so low, so amorous, so commanding.</p><p>And she did, look at him, her thighs and mound dallying with her Captain’s captive flesh, slivers of rushing honey crowning his passionate ministrations. Which he felt. <em>Oh! which he felt!</em> Jorah thought, burning up. His Lady’s lips were parted, to better crest and heave and whimper, and her violet eyes were sparkling as they dove into his.</p><p>“My Love… free me, make me soar!” she told him.</p><p>Daenerys felt herself almost pierced then, by whatever beast lied in wait, and she screamed Jorah’s name, just as the locomotive was rushing and whistling through the Highland tunnels.</p><p>Oh! this train, this formidable mechanical dragon had nothing on her Lover!</p><p>It was as if Jorah was the driving force behind the train’s forward pull, because he, himself, was the beat in his Queen’s heart and the pulse between her thighs. That naked skin which he was reaching for with one hand while he knew he shouldn’t—and yet, here he was, groping and foraging with assurance, while he held her close with his free arm. Daenerys was not fighting him, she was opening wider, aching for him, and digging her nails into Jorah’s naval garb, hooking to his straining biceps, to keep swaying on the hardest part of him.</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi!</em>
</p><p>Crumpling the fabric of her dress, Jorah’s fingers soon slipped on the silk of her stockings, and he held his breath. Her skin, Daenerys’ naked skin, so near! Just beyond his fingers poised on her garter. He couldn’t trespass further, he shouldn’t! Instead, in the ever-flashing light of the tunnels they were rushing through, Jorah grabbed Daenerys’ waist and seized her stockinged leg to slam her to him, completely taking over! Oh! He knew there was no hope of communion but he was not going to curb the overwhelming need he felt to make her his, and see her come undone, in his arms and against his heart!</p><p>“Jorah! <em>Jorah</em>…” Daenerys moaned and pleaded, letting go and relinquishing. Her naked skin shafting on her Captain’s garment, the honeyed flow of her pleasure maculating her, maculating him. This was going to be so good, so good…</p><p>“Give yourself to me!” Jorah growled low, so very near his Lady’s ear as he held her close, his heaving breath burning her skin.</p><p>Daenerys had to arch her body again from the jolts of pleasure seizing her. She was pulsating and pulsating, upon Jorah’s roar. Was it them exclaiming or the train whistling, again and again, until their song died down? Until they found their senses again upon the powerful blast of sunshine greeting them after the last of the tunnels?</p><p>Heaving still and amazed, Daenerys smiled into Jorah’s flushed face, breathing with him until he smiled with her, the adoration in his eyes making her swoon.</p><p>“It was you, my darling!” she whispered, so content, so wildly in love as she was recalling her dream… But she only had one glorious second of respite peering down into Jorah’s glance, stormy and wild. There was a knock on their compartment door and Daenerys found herself standing upright and wobbling on her feet, to greet a young steward, one hand holding the folds of her bustier.</p><p>“Refreshments, miss?” he asked, innocently.</p><p>Once the lovers were alone again, Daenerys played nurse to her poor forlorn Captain who had sacrificed completion for her own.</p><p>“Daenerys, I’m quite alright. My love, please. <em>No, don’t touch.</em> You’ll… you’ll just make it worse…”</p><p>The rest was contained giggles and amorous sighs enlivening the train ride, and echoing through the glens, all the way home.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. His lips chose another course</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Daenerys and Jorah come back from Glasgow, their love growing, but finding little outlet, pushes them to the brink...</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Dear readers, please note the change in rating, we've just gone to "E" for Eros :-) </p><p> </p><p>  <b>Also note that the next chapter was also published today. I felt like splurging.</b></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>THE KEEP - Chapter 10</p><p> </p><p>When Jorah and Daenerys reached Bear Island, it was New Year’s Day, and the Lady of Keep Cottage was still radiant from her train ride, to say the least.</p><p>Well, it <em>had</em> been memorable, thought Jorah, blushing still from their tryst… but Daenerys was also ecstatic because the book they had written would get published, and a whole new slate of novels was awaiting them. His Khaleesi was irresistible when her spirits were up and, today, her cheeks seemed on the point of bursting. It gave her such a youthful appearance; none of her past sufferings seemed to have left a scar on her soul.</p><p>“This will be the best year ever, my formidable Captain!”</p><p>Jorah’s eyes were smiling when he concurred, his own dimples showing because he thought her particularly adorable dressed as a tomboy, complete with breeches and a <em>marinière</em> jacket for their walk down the snowy cliffs to their beach. She had braided her hair loosely to the side and a knitted bonnet kept her head warm. In a word, she was his little sailor. She swore like one too! Jorah loved hearing her experiment with blue language, though he scolded her for show.</p><p>She was walking slightly ahead of him, and turning her face to him, from time to time, her figure brightening the grey skies above. Jorah had wanted to make the sun shine but Daenerys thought the darker clouds sometimes gave their turquoise sea an appealing emerald depth, so stunning indeed next to snow-capped pines bending in the wind, and the flour-white sands. Besides, whatever his Lady wanted, he was only too happy to provide.</p><p>Gods, how he adored her!</p><p>So how dare that young slimy squid, <em>Darnio Tamaris</em>, or whatever his name was, even look her way? Because, yes, the wonderful interlude he had experienced with Daenerys on the outbound train to Mallaig had not erased what or <em>whom </em>she had seen in Glasgow. Seven Hells, that man wore brilliantine in his hair! He was clearly not worthy of his Queen…</p><p><em>Daenerys Targaryen</em>, Jorah thought, his heart constricting then expanding with pride. For as long as she’d need him, he would stand by her side.</p><p>Of course, he knew their romance made no sense and could go nowhere! Of course, he knew it. He intimated as much. It was unfair to Daenerys. She was not going to waste her life with him, he would see to that. Yet… he loved her so. And she seemed so happy, presently bouncing down the trail, like the pixie that she was.</p><p>Jorah had been happy too. And now, his incessant worrying was torturing him. He saw his Lady wave at him from afar and, taking a deep breath, he willed a new smile in his gruff before waving back.</p><p>The estate came with a wide expanse of ocean frontage of which, by now, his Lady knew every rock and cavern and changing pool tide. When they got to the beach, a wave washed <em>something</em> to shore and she ran to it. A treasure for sure!</p><p>“Captain, look!” she exclaimed, her feet splashing in the sea foam, and her small frame hauling up a large piece of driftwood. “Jo-rah!” she called again, when she thought he was taking too long to reach her.</p><p>He could have been next to Daenerys in a flash of course but, truth be told, Jorah simply enjoyed walking to her, like a real-live man would have, with his feet trudging a bit in the wet sand. It made him feel alive and it gave him time to admire the wind playing with the hair loosening from his Lady’s braid. Reaching Daenerys, he almost <em>booped</em> her nose with a brush of his finger, he found her so darn cute. The air was nippy and had coloured her cheeks the loveliest shade of pink.</p><p>“So, madam,” Jorah inquired, mock-serious, “what do we have here?”</p><p>The eroded plank was thick and very tall, so he put his hand to it in order to hold it up firmly while Daenerys brushed it clean of sand and algae. There was… something engraved on it!</p><p>“Oh! Can you make it out, Captain?”</p><p>Jorah had been squinting at it but then his eyes went wide. “Seven hells,” he murmured almost in awe. He looked up to the horizon, as if the ocean could answer his private query, and then he looked at Daenerys.</p><p>“It says ‘Forever and a day,’ Khaleesi.” His voice was so soft, whispering what he knew to be written there though Daenerys’ hand was only now uncovering its markings.</p><p>“Oh! So it does!” she exclaimed softly, in turn. “How?...” she added, before guessing the truth, given Jorah’s almost solemn mood, “Did you carve it yourself, Captain?”</p><p>“I did… I most certainly did, my Lady.”</p><p><em>He seems almost in shock</em>, thought Daenerys. She was about to ask him if he was alright when he finally explained, finishing to brush the sand from the inscription himself.</p><p>“When I thought I had lost… everything,” he began, obviously meaning Lynesse, “I took a skiff and went out to sea. Rather like a mad man, I’m afraid,” he smirked sadly, glancing towards Daenerys, “and I threw everything overboard. Mementoes, letters and… a door!” He chuckled roughly at the memory, seeing Daenerys squint at him. “Back then, at the Keep, the orchard was separated from the garden by an arbour I made myself, and a door I had adorned with these words. This driftwood is what’s left of it, I’m afraid.”</p><p>“But it came back to you, Captain,” Daenerys murmured, trying to make him see the beauty in the Ocean’s gift. “I think the sea wants you to remember your dreams.”</p><p>At that, Jorah turned more fully to his Love and, once more, he thought to himself: <em>Sometimes I look at you and…</em></p><p>“Yes, Khaleesi, maybe the ocean itself knows my Lady has finally come to me.”</p><p>“Oh! She has my darling, she has!” Daenerys pledged with fervour, leaning closer to Jorah, and smiling into his eyes. Her hands patted his blue scarf, to stop herself from kissing him.</p><p>“Help me bury the plank like a totem, will you?” she then exclaimed, joyfully. “I want the driftwood to greet us every time we come down to the beach!”</p><p>“You mean like this?” Jorah asked, his smile meeting Daenerys’ while he took a step back for her to notice the plank was already well set into the sand, between sturdy reefs.</p><p>“Yes!” Daenerys laughed out loud, “Thank you, my love!” she added like the breeze, crushing his heart and making it soar. It didn’t matter anymore; both felt the same. And then she went for the kill.</p><p>“And do you know why we’re here, Captain?!” She was almost squealing remembering her plan. “It’s New Year’s Day, and what do Bear Islanders do on New Year’s Day?”</p><p>Jorah’s smile vanished in an instant, especially as he saw Daenerys disrobe quickly before his very eyes!</p><p>“They go polar bear and brave the seaaaaaaaa!” she shouted.</p><p>In a flash, she had taken off her tomboyish clothes, keeping her knickers and her knitted cap topped with a pompom, and was running towards the surf.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! Seven Hells!</em>
</p><p>“Khaleesiiiiiiiiiiiii!”</p><p>But it was too late. Daenerys was splashing through the shallow waves, squealing and soon cursing while laughing out loud, looked on with horror by Jorah who, this time, ran to the water in the hopes of… in the hopes of, oh blast it all, he didn’t quite know! But watching his fearless siren, <em>with a pompom</em>, he soon smiled and then laughed while pleading for her to come back.</p><p>And after a few seconds, she did.</p><p>“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, Jorah do something!!!!!!”</p><p>The end of Daenerys’ braid had turned to icicles, her lips were blue and the tip of her breasts were a bright pink underneath the wet silk of her chemise. Not that Jorah was staring, <em>no</em>, because he was taking off his coat to bundle up his Love.</p><p>“Madam, are you completely mad?!”</p><p>“Yes, yes I am. I am a mad Bear Islander and I am mad about us! Mad about you, Captain Jorah Mormont!” she had to scream over the wind suddenly picking up, her teeth shattering but her smile beaming.</p><p>Jorah was still looking at her, flabbergasted and enchanted until, suddenly, the wind dropped and, all around them, the light changed, turning from milky January to sparkling May, the warmest of May day, stupefying Daenerys.</p><p>She wasn’t cold anymore but looked dumbstruck, making Jorah smile softly and bend down to her.</p><p>“You did ask me <em>to do </em>something, my Lady,” referring to the change in weather. “Now, what do you say to getting dressed while I plot our course for home?”</p><p>“All right, Skipper!”</p><p>Walking back towards the cliffs, they passed Jorah’s ‘totem’. It was always going be there... and all the captains of all the ships in the Northern Atlantic would see it through their spyglasses, saving themselves from shipwrecks, Daenerys was sure of it! How wondrous her Captain’s powers! How enchanting! How…</p><p><em>Oh! Jorah, if only you could turn back time, and undo your fate, the same way you whisked us months ahead, </em>Daenerys thought, willing her eyes not to cloud over as she thanked Jorah, silently. And she didn’t have to fight sadness for very long because when they reached the Keep, a vision was awaiting her… the garden was abloomed.</p><p>
  <em>A-bloomed!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys’ lips parted in dazzlement, seeing the wildflowers turning their heads to the sun, and the lilies-of-the-valley hiding in the shadows, and the lilacs… the lilacs! Lavender blue! Beautiful against the white backdrop of the Queen Ann architecture of their home. Oh! She had arrived too late for their glory and joyous scent last summer! She turned her face to Jorah, with tears of wonderment in her eyes, as they stood in front of the gate.</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah’s deep glorious voice rumbled towards her, with a twinkle in his eyes, “When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed, I thought you’d forever be a dream…”</p><p>“And what if I still was, Jorah?” Daenerys answered him with a soft tinge in her voice.</p><p>“Then I pray you not to wake me. Forevermore.”</p><p>And on this wish, Jorah opened the gate for his Love, and he gazed at her walking up the flowered alley to their house, his chest expanding with such pride and happiness, he thought he was actually reborn.</p><p><em>To dream, per chance to live…</em> the Bard would have rewritten <em>Hamlet</em>, had he known Daenerys and Jorah.</p><p>The Captain shooshed any thought of letting his Love wake and leave him. He closed the gate to Keep Cottage, and let his manly steps follow Daenerys’. They were home—and he was smiling.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p>
  
</p><p>At first, Daenerys was concerned about how the leap in time might be received by Gilly, but it was as if the months had elapsed normally for her friend. So much so, time actually came back to bite her, instead!</p><p>“Ah! Your Grace…”</p><p>“Gilly please!” Daenerys groaned, hearing her friend calling her by her old title.</p><p>“Don’t Gilly me! I’m scolding you! Your publisher has been phoning every day—”</p><p>“We have a phone now?” Daenerys whispered, looking about, searching for this new modern commodity.</p><p>“—something called your ‘outline’ is overdue!”</p><p>“Oh?!” exclaimed both Daenerys and Jorah, standing side by side, their reaction a guilty one.</p><p>“I’m running out of excuses to give him, missy! It’s all very well and nice for you to go swimming or spend hours daydreaming in your lounging chair, near the beehive in the orchard but—”</p><p>“Well, first of all,” Daenerys exclaimed, defensively, “I never daydream, I percolate ideas.”</p><p>The Captain nodded in agreement, his eyes also on Gilly.</p><p>“And secondly…”</p><p>Secondly, well, she couldn’t very well tell Gilly, that she had skipped a few months or that lounging somewhere about the estate, she’d expect the wind and sun to caress her, until some wonderful feeling bloomed from her core, knowing, just knowing, it was Jorah gifting her… pleasure.</p><p>“Secondly, m’lady?” smirked Gilly, “and no, do not turn to your Captain for support!”</p><p><em>W-what?</em> Daenerys whispered feebly, Gilly’s admonition catching her off-guard, just as she was indeed going to gaze towards Jorah. Needless to say, the Captain froze too, thinking Gilly could suddenly see him standing there, in her kitchen. Which might as well have been the case!</p><p>“I thought so,” concluded Gilly, seeing Daenerys petrified with no more excuses to offer. “So, shoo to your type-writer and get on with it!”</p><p>“M’am, yes m’am!” saluted Daenerys before eyeing the Captain, similarly chastised, and scooting out of the scullery.</p><p>“I knew an admiral once—” he began.</p><p>“Hush!” Daenerys hissed, one foot on the grand staircase.</p><p>“And shall I bring up one cup, <em>or two</em>, with your teapot, <em>Your Grace</em>?” shouted Gilly, smirking from the kitchen.</p><p>
  <em>Oh my!</em>
</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Regardless of their fault and time-hopping, Daenerys and Jorah did manage to make amends for their playing hooky, because they worked all day and well into the night, their brainstorming alighting the room with sparks of electricity. Which could only lead to one thing, and one thing only…</p><p>“Well…” Daenerys murmured.</p><p>“Well…” Jorah rumbled towards her, his tall frame shadowing his Lady’s, as she stood near the bed. Their bed. “It’s very late,” he whispered.</p><p>“It is,” concurred Daenerys, her violet eyes mesmerising, “Should you bid me goodnight, then, Captain?”</p><p>“I should.” His voice sounded like lead and felt like it too.</p><p>Of course, he would go. Yes, they had dallied on the train, but it was an interlude, a dream made true for his Love, but a simple <em>souvenir </em>to her now, possibly—Jorah thought, dejectedly. Daenerys <em>should</em> send him away. He had told her himself. She <em>should </em>try to go out into the world and meet—</p><p>“Good night then, Jorah,” Daenerys interjected on his private thoughts, “I look forward to our day. Tomorrow.”</p><p>Her voice was sweet and yet it felt like a dagger slowly piercing his heart; the blade, testing the firmness of his organ and then simply, inexorably, pushing in.</p><p>Did she know? Did she know, as her eyes did not let go of his?</p><p>Anyhow he would bow now. He would bow and turn away. He would—</p><p>But when Daenerys moved, to leave his orbit, to maybe walk to her bathroom and leave him, leave him as a castaway in the middle of their master bedroom, so Jorah moved.</p><p>He moved his manly frame and blocked Daenerys’ course.</p><p>“No,” he murmured, his voice breaking.</p><p>“Captain?” his torturer lifted her eyes, demurely.</p><p>“Daenerys,” he breathed out, his voice the deepest she had ever heard it.</p><p>He bent to her ear. He raised his hand over her heart. And then, like a knight laying his sword, his words reached her like an invisible whisper, a breeze warming her skin, a wish, a prayer.</p><p>“One last time?”</p><p>Oh! The tremor running through her body, as Daenerys heard Jorah’s plea! And yet—</p><p>“Captain?” she repeated, as if she didn’t understand his meaning.</p><p>“Tomorrow,” he whispered, “I’ll let you go tomorrow.”</p><p>The love in his eyes. The despair. The want and the need. The hunger for love. For life. For her.</p><p>Oh! How she loved that look! Yet, Daenerys did not respond. No sound was leaving her lips but she opened them, the tip of her tongue wetting their plumpness, and it called Jorah to her. His coveting had her move a few steps back towards the bed and when she reached it, she laid her hands on the bedspread, in order to stop her fall, the position exposing her body like a figurehead making the Captain lean into her, incapable of keeping his distance. Jorah’s lips were grazing her cheek, her lips, the nearness of him making her quiver. She looked at him then, and she welcomed the fire spilling from his eyes into hers.</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah whispered, his shimmering fingers trailing her translucent blouse, and opening its folds: “Let me…”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It was so intense, the pleasure seizing her body! And the release of it, under her own touch and her Captain’s—immodest, exulting, and completely unbound, making her tense like a bow, while rasping Jorah’s name. The glorious sound of it too, running through him and seizing his soul!</p><p>His manly bulk leaning over his Love, Jorah shook over Daenerys’ features, as her face turned to his, her lips parting on her heaving breath, whimpering still from her shattering.</p><p>Did her beauty know no bounds?</p><p>Daenerys spoke then, drawing him even closer.</p><p>“Don’t you know, my darling,” she told him, so much in love, “that I would <em>never </em>have let you leave me, tonight?”</p><p>“Khaleesi…” Jorah exhaled, closing his eyes and letting himself fall on their pillows, so relieved, and yet with his almost-flesh pulsating and aching… until he felt Daenerys’ hand close around him. He had to moan then, his head in the nook of Daenerys’ neck, just a sigh away from her skin.</p><p>“No, do not!” he rasped.</p><p>But she caressed him still; because she could, away from his flesh, and she wanted him so. Jorah’s breath was labouring, slowly, deeply, and he raised himself to look intently into his torturer’s sultry eyes. “Khaleesi, please…”</p><p>“No, it is I who am pleading you, my Love…” Daenerys whispered, her breath coming faster just discovering how aroused Jorah was underneath all his layers. Yet he fought her.</p><p>“No, not like this, my darling, please. I am not…” <em>Alive.</em> He wasn’t a real man and this was all wrong. He would go mad from their dallying. He would die, again, and again, and again. And yet, how could he let her go, ever?</p><p>“Jorah…” Daenerys whispered, freeing her Captain. Her fingers ran up, with red shimmers, along the golden fur of his half-naked chest, expanding just for her, before she spoke again. “I love you, Jorah. I don’t want you to suffer.”</p><p>“I’m not.” He was lying, of course.</p><p>“I won’t anymore…” <em>Oh, was she telling him it was over? </em>Jorah was almost glad for it<em>.</em></p><p>“All the other times, my Love, the next time, I won’t try to touch you.” <em>Oh! He had misunderstood… </em>and was almost glad for it too!</p><p>“Tomorrow evening, and the one after that and the next one…” Daenerys was smiling and yet shedding tears too, her hand hovering next to his cheek. “Not if you don’t want me to.” And her smile then, amorous and triumphant, made him close his eyes again and sigh in torment and relief.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>There were to be more sighs, more feverish words of love, more suffering and release over the nights to come.</p><p>It was like a dance in hell and paradise between the Lady and her Ghost. All day, they would create joyously, feeling giddy, almost drunk on the Elysium of their writing! It was a part of him and a part of her, this new novel, and yet, it was also greater than the sum of them. It came so close to fill the chasm between their existence, and erase the boundary between life and death. When night came, when the novel’s words died down, others took their place, more intimate, more passionate, that could bridge the whisper left to gap between them. And though they could not touch, they almost could; Jorah’s blueish shimmer meeting Daenerys’ reddish one to make the night combust. And the dance continued! Their souls twirling faster and faster, and closer and closer to feel the divide disappear. Until Daenerys would leap, believing the illusion, while Jorah stayed behind, knowing the truth… and was left to gaze, enraptured, at his Love slowly coming back to him, so beautiful, so much alive while he could never, ever be again.</p><p>Oh! why did she love him?</p><p>He never dared ask her. How could he when, like a never-ending echo, Daenerys always, always closed their dalliance with the loveliest of incantations:</p><p>‘<em>Don’t you know, my love, that this could never be the night to let you go?’</em></p><p>Until the evening of the full moon.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>“You are so obstinate!” erupted Daenerys.</p><p>“Obstinate?! <em>I</em>, madam?” Jorah said in turn, pointing to himself with an air of utter disbelief. In the declining light of the sun, in his full opaque human form, he looked quite formidable.</p><p>The day had been long and the scuffle between the pages had somehow spilt over into the master bedroom.</p><p>“Jorah, it makes no sense that our heroine would prefer the boring diplomat when there’s an exciting pirate on deck.”</p><p>“I beg your pardon! The royal envoy on ship is not boring, he is a respectable, responsible gentleman, perfectly willing and able to marry our heroine, and that pirate is not exciting, he scowls half the time, doesn’t shave and wears a tattered yellow shirt which he can’t keep closed! Frankly, I don’t get it!”</p><p>Daenerys just sat there, looking at her Captain with a deadpan expression that spoke volumes. It made Jorah realise the picture he had just painted in words but, obstinate, he repeated:</p><p>“I still don’t get it!”</p><p>“Argh!...” exclaimed Daenerys, pulling herself free from her desk to make her way towards the open door of the bow window. Jorah was in her path and, so… “Out of my way, Captain,” she tried to say calmly, and failed.</p><p>“By all means,” grumbled her tall co-writer, letting her pass.</p><p>Jorah nonetheless joined Daenerys outside, on the thin balcony hugging the half-circle of the tall windows. He looked at her and saw that she was still upset. Upset in earnest.</p><p>Jorah apologised, quite contrite. Every time the full moon shone, he had such a hard time reigning in his… his emotions. He tried to make amends with his most velvety voice: “I’m sorry, Khaleesi.”</p><p>Daenerys had her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes were not exactly dry, which annoyed her. Yet, her voice was softer when she spoke again, throwing a side glance to her Captain.</p><p>“Why do you do that? Trying to steer her towards acceptable mores, and conventions, and good manners? You know very well it’s not who she is, or what she wants.” Of course, they were not talking of their heroine, but about Daenerys herself.</p><p>Before answering, Jorah took a deep breath and looked at the ocean. Banks of fog were coming in under the setting sun.</p><p>“Because I want what’s best for her?” he finally rumbled. “Because the pirate is not of her world, he’ll never be, and she deserves better, she deserves more!” He had raised his voice and, looking back towards Daenerys, he saw that she was looking at him with a concerned frown. “She… she deserves the World!” he nonetheless concluded, incapable of holding in his passionate stance, but looking away once more.</p><p>There was a lull between them, broken by the lonesome sound of a faraway bell, warning of the fog.</p><p>“But maybe she feels she already has it, Jorah,” Daenerys tried to explain, her voice calm and reassuring before gliding towards her Captain who stiffened up slightly. He was the one upset now.</p><p>“And why do you bring in the fog, my love?” she murmured, her voice so soft now, her hand trying to make Jorah’s face turn to her. “There’s more and more of it, every evening.”</p><p>“Because!” he grumbled, his voice coarser than he wished it to be, and his arm moving suddenly.</p><p>Startled, Daenerys took a step back to avoid contact but she slipped on the wet metal, her body called by the void below the short balustrade. Her eyes locked with Jorah’s, in a single horrified instant, before the sky and its first stars replaced the blue of his eyes… Until his powerful grip yanked her back, his voice calling out to her!</p><p>Daenerys cried out too, and then both she and the Captain heaved as her body slammed into his. Jorah blinked, seeing her so close, feeling her chest on his, and then, in unison, they both looked at their hands: his fingers closed tightly around her wrist, a violet light surging on the skin and then dying, leaving them… simply touching in the swirling fog.</p><p>They were touching! And Daenerys was still alive.</p><p>They were touching and her heart was still beating. It was beating madly!</p><p>“Jorah?” she whimpered, heaving again, half afraid and half elated.</p><p>He meant to say something. ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘are you alright, my darling?’ He meant to say ‘Khaleesi’ between two shallow intakes of oxygen, his eyes looking into hers, bedazzled. But Jorah’s lips chose another course… and came crashing into Daenerys’, his mouth biting the fruit of her lips with a famished rumble—feeling everything!</p><p>Feeling the current, the sparks, the fire of their human joining! Feeling the softness of her mouth, and how pliant her waist was in his arms, and how his hand could cup the whole of her head, to keep her to his kiss, while he did kiss her, and kissed her, his fingers cradling her cheek, undoing her hair, slipping under her décolletage, just to touch her skin as he still kissed her madly, fervently, an endless kiss fuelled by Daenerys’ sobs, dying on his lips—and Gods, he would consume her!</p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>*</strong>
</p><p> </p><p>They were not able to tell how they got back inside, nor how Daenerys came to tumble on the bed with the supine weight of Jorah pressing down on her, his body on fire. She had torn open his shirt and could run her fingers in the copper curls covering his chest. How could a ghost be burning this way? How could his blood race thus, under her palms? It shocked her flesh; it shocked her mind. It jolted her, from her sex to her heart!</p><p>Was this a dream? <em>Not again</em>—<em>please, no more!</em> This was real then, wasn’t it? Yet… what if it stopped; what if it all went away in the blink of an eye? Daenerys did not want to wake with a start, the way she always did. She wouldn’t allow it! She was Daenerys of House Targaryen and, therefore, she would not allow it—<em>please, no more!</em></p><p>Jorah read that summon and that plea in Daenerys’ eyes and he could only obey: willingly, passionately, and it spurred his amorous ardour while she quivered in his embrace. As hurried as he, his Khaleesi was biting his lips and bruising the plumpness of her own upon his gruff—<em>Oh! Don’t, my love!</em> <em>Not your beautiful lips</em>—He cherished them! And Jorah did protect them, in a cajoling kiss, and hungry rumble. Because words and explanations would come later. He needed to… he needed to love her just now, and <em>feel </em>her, and see her soar!</p><p>In one sweeping movement, never breaking his passionate kisses—and how Jorah lavished his Lady!—he undid every tiny button running down the full length of her dress, the cascading of it echoing his adoring sighs. But then! How his breath caught, discovering just how much Daenerys was offered underneath her beautiful garment, violet like her eyes: pale silk stockings hugging her milky thighs, over a darker shade of threads to jolt the eye, and just a pearl-coloured corset, made of satin, with a ribbon running underneath the doves of her bosom. No veil covering them, not a million petticoats to vanquish, and just the sheerest of silky lace guarding her silver curls. The vision sent a rush of blood to his manhood, hardening so, Jorah had to inhale sharply through clenched teeth, before lifting his eyes to Daenerys.</p><p>She had dreamt of that look; she had waited so long for it! It made her feel powerful and she turned regal, moving her hips and mound in a sultry invitation as she watched Jorah’s stormy blue eyes glide over her body again. Daenerys heard his rumble then, low and nearly dangerous. He was calling her name but all she heard was desire, and when she felt his fingers find their way to her sex—not in an almost-touch, not hovering over her own fingers, but his flesh on her flesh—she whimpered. And it sounded like<em> yes</em>, and it sounded like <em>please</em>, and it sounded like <em>Gods,</em> <em>yes, please </em>and<em> now!</em></p><p><em>“Khaleesi…”</em> Jorah rasped, almost painfully, upon discovering for himself just how creamy Daenerys was. Because she was—so incredibly—luscious and ready. He turned his tempestuous eyes to her, and he dared ask in his husky voice, his jaw clenching…</p><p>“For me, my Love?”</p><p>Daenerys whimpered again. She was unable to speak. She could just open her thighs and press herself to Jorah’s touch, his immodest question triggering her hips to sway under his fingers, until she heard the music of her lips on the swirling of his touch. Her breath came up shallow then, and her eyes were pleading so, Jorah found himself swallowing hard, moved and aroused beyond reason. Once more, he cupped his Lady’s head with his free hand to drink kisses from her mouth while she rocked, almost roughly, on his caress below, cresting and cresting and cresting, the flower of her flesh swallowing his fingers.</p><p>Jorah could feel Daenerys on the brink of coming undone but demanding more, and his breath caught in his throat when her hand laid claim to the hardness dying to be let out from inside his breeches. Their fingers met on his crotch and they had to break their kiss in wonder and confusion, until Jorah made every button there <em>pop</em> in one swift tug! And how sultry his Lady’s moan when her small hand freed the girth and warmth of his manhood, heavy with want.</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi!</em>
</p><p>Daenerys heard Jorah’s rumble, like a warning, his flesh burning her fingers.</p><p>And time stopped in that glorious second.</p><p>Just long enough for Daenerys to run her thumb on the silky drops pearling from Jorah’s crown, making him quake all over. He felt… Jorah felt <em>alive</em>, in Daenerys’ embrace; his heart aching so, it seemed on the point of beating!</p><p><em>Daenerys, Khaleesi, my Love…</em> She was caressing him and he was coming alive and he—wanted—her—so!</p><p>Slowly, purposefully, Jorah bared down over Daenerys, his flesh captive in Daenerys’ hand while his own twisted the honeyed fabric keeping him from her secret flesh. He brushed it against her pearl, his jaw clenching. He felt the blood rush to his Lady’s caress. And he rumbled her name again, dipping the fabric in her honeyed folds, waiting.</p><p>He waited and it came: “<em>Yes</em>,” Daenerys breathed.</p><p>Just a simple yes, giving him leave to tear the silky threads. But slowly, for them to <em>hear </em>the ripping of the fabric, as Jorah opened his Lady’s thighs and brought his hips to hers, for him to demand safe harbour and to breathe next to her mouth, making her lips quiver, with delicious fear and anticipation.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! Please! Now!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Would she have to beg?</em>
</p><p>Daenerys felt her wetness kiss Jorah’s flesh and she whimpered again. But she was rewarded: the line of her Captain’s jaw hardened, like the steel of his sex crushing hers where no lace could hold him back. There was no doubt as to what sweet rampage he meant to inflict. It made Daenerys roll her head back in his arm, and utter a guttural moan of acquiescence. Jorah growled low and long then, lifting her to him, the beast in him looking to kiss her creamy core. When she saw his expression again, so amorous, so feral, and feeling his manhood test the threshold of her intimate flesh, in wet kisses, just insistent enough to make her gage the breadth of him, she shivered.</p><p>This would hurt deliciously, wouldn’t it? —</p><p>And it did—<em>Gods! </em>The word caught in Daenerys’ throat and she would have moaned loudly had Jorah not kissed her, after growling her name.</p><p>The way he invaded her, unable to hold back, searing hot and imperious!</p><p>They had waited <em>so</em> long.</p><p>It was, it was—Daenerys couldn’t even breathe! And the way he made sure she felt him: looking in her eyes, and thrusting once, hard and deep, almost in pain himself.</p><p>
  <em>Daenerys!</em>
</p><p>Jorah said her name again, not believing this was happening, but claiming her, with abandon, with passion, without end, to make it so. To tell them both it was so.</p><p>
  <em>They were one.</em>
</p><p>It was impossible and yet, they were. And since when? Since when could they have touched in this way; through Daenerys’ magic and his? How much time had they wasted, not knowing? She could have been his and he could have been hers. He could have claimed her, every night, and every day! It wasn’t proper but the thought was burning his mind, his flesh, pounding. He could have welcomed her, and taken her and taken her and taken her! <em>Oh! my Love…</em></p><p>With a famished kiss, Jorah nestled deep and then lifted himself, pulling his Lady’s core from the bed. Daenerys cried out, feeling Jorah shield himself deeper within her, his strong hands lifting her to him until only her shoulders and head remained on the bedcover. She was drowning in heart-splitting pleasure—her legs wrapping around her Captain’s frame as he thrusted in, their moans mingling. Oh! It was awakening the dragon in her, turning her movements immodest, and meeting Jorah’s thrusts, threatening to make him spill too soon!</p><p>Diving once more to his Lady, one hand landing on the bed, the other circling her waist, the Captain summoned her to him with sudden words of passion, while kissing her skin, to brand her.</p><p>
  <em>I will devour you, my Love!</em>
</p><p>A flame on her throat, a scorching lick on her bosom. How hungry it made her! How famished they both were for each other!</p><p>Daenerys’ mind kept imploding on the lusty realization, her fingers getting caught in her Captain’s curls, on the nape of his neck, to tug on them, to better kiss him back while she met his impatient rutting—the height of the bed perfect for their hurried mating.</p><p>Jorah was roaring huskily, while Daenerys brought his face to hers, to kiss him, before abandoning herself to more ravishing.</p><p><em>Am I hurting you, my love? </em>She heard him whisper, jaw clenched and his voice— breaking from pleasure.</p><p><em>No! Yes! Don’t stop! </em>Her eyes and moans answered. She was a dragon, after all!</p><p>Daenerys could feel the tenderness of her thighs rubbing against the wool of Jorah’s pants, hugging his hips and framing his cock, thick and hard—oh! he was a Centaur below his naked chest. She whimpered seeing him thus, on his renewed thrusts. It felt so good, too good—her Love, reaching in, and making her <em>feel </em>him. She couldn’t stop moaning. She could not!</p><p><em>Jorah I</em>—</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi, come for me…</em>
</p><p>Daenerys couldn’t hold her soaring, not after Jorah’s ministrations and his claiming, feral and learned! She shattered with abandon, crying her Captain’s name, while his hips rolled onto her like ocean breakers, his husky voice pouring into her ear: “I can feel you. Khaleesi, <em>I can feel you</em>…”</p><p>Such a gift, such a miracle!</p><p>Jorah would have wanted to slow down—truly! Because he had meant to savour his Love, he had, but he had longed for her so, his desire bordered on desperation. And his Lady was coming undone now—twice over! She was meeting his thrusts again, demanding more still, her breasts spilling into his waiting mouth, while she was… she was raising her thighs higher, for him to take her deeper. Which he did. With relish. <em>Oh Gods! Daenerys…</em></p><p>“Now, Jorah…” his Queen commanded, her heaving sighs so warm, her hand more so when it snaked down between them to the very base of his beautiful cock, to claim it for herself. Her gesture made her Captain moan on her lips and break from their kiss, to plead her to stop, though <em>he</em> did not. Stop. His thrusting. He couldn’t! And it suited Daenerys: “Take your pleasure, my Love. Take it—<em>Now,</em> Jorah!”</p><p>And Jorah obeyed, thrusting one last time, his eyes locking with Daenerys—and she felt it! Her Captain, finally home… Such force and beauty under her palm and fingers; those powerful retractions all along Jorah’s shaft.</p><p>His beating flesh! His pulse!</p><p>Daenerys felt powerful then. This! This was her coronation!</p><p>“Khaleesi, Khaleesi…” Jorah could not stop rasping, in a roar, as he gave himself over to the undertow, his body unable, it seemed, to reach the end of whatever had gripped him. She let him go then, to embrace him close with both her arms, and for him to nestle hard and deep, giving himself over to the final throes of pleasure.</p><p>And this was, indeed, pleasure, the likes Jorah had never known. It was so intense, he had to bury his head in Daenerys’ mane. He had to crush his lips to her throat. And he had to growl, one of his arms keeping his Lady’s thighs high over his hips, and the other, still pulling her waist to him, on every jolt, because it just… would not… stop! The reeling, the release, the coming undone, so close to agony.</p><p>“My love, my love, I…”</p><p>“Hush… Jorah, ssshh…”</p><p>Daenerys held her Captain tight as the searing sensations subsided slowly and he found most of his breath again. Only then did she whisper and smile against his ear: “Will you not come to bed now, my darling?”</p><p><em>W-what?</em> Jorah’s mind was so intoxicated with pleasure he could not think. His Love’s scent, her warmth, her softness and the creaminess of her—Oh! he was hardening still, the need to possess her again imperious… until Daenerys’ words finally aligned themselves in his mind and—</p><p>What had he done? He was a boor! Jorah was aghast, realizing how they came to dally.</p><p>“Undress, and love me properly?” Daenerys added, biting her lip.</p><p>“Oh! Khaleesi, I—” <em>This is unforgivable</em>, Jorah thought, lifting his head to gaze at his Lady… only to see a playful smile illuminate her features. His next apology died on his lips and he sighed slowly, deeply, letting Daenerys kiss him sensually. It was near impossible to hide his own smile, when he pulled back, just enough to gaze into her sparkling eyes.</p><p> “Madam,” Jorah whispered, still slightly out of breath and his voice the deepest of velvet, “are you suggesting I disrobe to better pleasure you until you tire of me?”</p><p>“Indeed I do, Captain Mormont.”</p><p>And how sultry the sound of her command. Jorah barely felt most of his clothes vanish from his skin before he sensed his Khaleesi claim the bulk of him.</p><p>
  
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I borrowed the following amazing line from Walt Whitman: “When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed" -- it is from a poem dedicated to President Lincoln. I fell in love with this line in 1984 and have whispered it ever since, marveling at its strange syntax and lovely sonority, especially to my frenchy ear. Google it, it's beautiful!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Lay me down and roll me out to sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>As Jorah and Daenerys' magical night unfolds, the Captain is faced with the hardest choice of all.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <b>Dear readers, please note that two chapters were published today, so don't forget to read chapter 10 first ;-)))))))</b>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>And the rating has indeed gone up to "E".</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>THE KEEP - CHAPTER 11</p><p> </p><p>They were kissing.</p><p>Long and groggily. Inside a slow whirlwind of musky and blossom scents; inside the softness of sheets that should have always been theirs; inside embraces so vibrant, they lit the night with the glow of their love, warm and wanton.</p><p>Now that fear had left them—the fear to see their dalliance stolen away from them, at any second, by a new twist of fate or waking, Daenerys and Jorah were taking their time inside their bed; every second a marvel.</p><p>They were finally… finally touching!</p><p>They were touching and could see no end to it. To this feast, to the glory of just breathing each other’s flesh and letting it susurrate and melt, one into the other. They were willing the very air about them to stand still, their love protected inside their canopied rest ‘made for endless nights and lingering mornings.’ Daenerys had always felt Jorah’s arms about her as she slept in his room, but now… Now, he was truly there, between the covers he used in his stead to keep her warm, and she felt coveted and held, cradled and protected, caressed and elevated.</p><p>“Daenerys…” Jorah whispered, breaking his kisses slowly, to gaze with wonder inside his Lady’s eyes, his large hand cupping her face. It dawned on him that he had never held a woman in his bed, much less the love of his days. The love of his eternal night. And she was there. She was there with him! And he was holding her. The underworld had opened up to let him love the one he could have lived for…</p><p>Yes, they were touching—so tenderly, so delicately—their breath but a whisper. And if a touch or a kiss rekindled the flame too brightly, Jorah would pull back, his heaving mightily strained, and he’d whisper, as much for Daenerys as for himself: “Wait, wait my darling… wait for it… shhhhh… we have all the time in the world, we have all night. Wait…” And Daenerys would whimper, so softly, and with eyes pleading: must we? But, she obeyed, if only in jest, her lips taking Jorah’s—to make him suffer, of course—while the tip of her fingers found the amorous drops of syrup tearing from him, just for her.</p><p>So it was that the Lady of The Keep felt like a Queen and yet, how petite she was inside her Captain’s arms, inside the Kingdom that was his bed, as she once labelled it. He looked to be its monarch too, a golden Poseidon amidst the surf of white cotton and billowing pillows, keeping his favourite Nereid close to him, next to him, under and over him. Jorah was softly, effortlessly, embracing Daenerys and tumbling her about, but so slowly, so sensuously, her silver mane frothed on their midnight blue coverlet. There he captured her hushed laughter and her sighs as they bubbled to the surface; his smiling lips breaking from her, to better peer in her violet, violet eyes.</p><p>They looked to be happy.</p><p>It looked to be forever.</p><p>Of course, Jorah had set his Lady’s freedom in motion, telling her she should ‘go out into the World’. That is—away from him, to meet the one who would give her everything that he could not.</p><p>“I love you. Jorah, I love you so…” Daenerys whispered, brushing his lips, as if hearing his thoughts, to quiet them. She had her siren’s voice, and Jorah could only succumb, tightening his embrace and diving to her lips once more.</p><p>How perfect; how perfectly happy Daenerys felt. She had never known felicity. She had never been held, and cherished, and whispered to—tender sonnets and sweet nothings, in velvety rumbles and low, low, fiery growls, the way Jorah did. She had never known a man who listened, and saw, and welcomed her own pleasure, gifting her sighs and moans, upon her sweet commands and playful pleas. A man smitten by the conqueror in her. But thus was Jorah Mormont. A man who knew when to give and when to take, when to relinquish and when to vanquish, to make her quiver, forevermore, his hunger for her inextinguishable.</p><p>It was undeniable: Jorah’s heart, unconstrained by Time or Matter, had moored in the secret of her, and Daenerys was happy!</p><p><em>Khaleesi, Khaleesi, my love…</em> Jorah kept whispering, in awe. He would have gladly served her and loved her from afar, suffering every day—every minute of every day and night, but she had whisked the air about Keep Cottage with her Valyrian magic… and made it possible for them to touch. It might have been an illusion—as he was, still?—but for this one night, it would be true. It would be everything before slipping back into the ether: feeling the concreteness about him—the ampleness of their bed, the softness of the linens, his fist digging into them, as he held himself over Daenerys.</p><p>Her scent, intoxicating—and her pulse, between her secret lips and on her throat—and the fire in her. Oh! the very reality of it all!</p><p>His mind searing, Jorah lunged for Daenerys, forgetting his resolve. He needed her so; craving her sighs, her open thighs and that luscious, luscious honey, just covering him! Could he not make her soar again, and again, and again, before letting go himself?</p><p>This time though, he did ask for her permission, between inarticulate ‘Khaleesis’ and the taking of her lips, just to hear her moan… And she granted it, throwing her arms over her silver mane, the tip of her fingers pushing on the headboard of their bed, to give him free reign of her body.</p><p>Drunk on Daenerys’ abandon, Jorah found his way to the fullness of her breasts, and the roundness of her belly. He had freed her before, of her corset; every snap breaking open making his manhood twitch in anticipation as she moved her hips slowly, sensually… but now, his kisses were trailing her skin towards the mystery of her mound. She was undulating below his lips and her scent was intoxicating him. There was her perfume again, those crushed violet roses mixed with incense. It made her secret lips the most sacred of temples, and his kisses a prayer. He needed to drown himself in her musky juices, the heady call of her intimate flesh. It was rising toward his flaring nostrils as his kisses were nearing her sex, his nose burying itself in her curls. Oh! No one, but no one, on this Earth or the Afterlife would stop him from tasting her—his Love, his Lady, his downfall—and feasting on her.</p><p>“Khaleesi!” Jorah repeated; like a promise and a warning. And with one last famished kiss on the down of her skin, Jorah simply dived to the garden of her, lifting her core to his mouth as he crouched on his knees to bring her body to his lips. He stole her breath away, worshipping at her altar, like a priest puts his lips to a chalice, but with his goddess wrapped around his neck. She pleaded and his kiss became greedier; it became roguish. Of course, it was him, the golden pirate of their novel, the one he thought was not deserving, the one who should bow down to a better man. This other who’d come soon. But not right away. Not now. Because now, this parched pirate needed his Lady’s treasured nectar to survive—nay, to feel once more alive.</p><p>“Jorah!” Daenerys cried out, cresting like lightning, her thighs shaking. But he did not relent. He did not let her go. No! He just held her closer still, to his mouth, securing her legs over his broad shoulders, the roundness of her bottom resting on his muscled thighs and his fingers digging in the flesh of her hips, on every moan, every one of them, until he sensed her burst upon his kiss. It felt so good. It tasted even more heavenly. But he was almost sorry for the suddenness of it, her soaring, so soon, too soon. He wanted more. He couldn’t let go of her pulse on his lips.</p><p>Jorah slowed his ravishing then, his kisses becoming softer, as he laid Daenerys back down into the plushness of their bed. His touch became languorous, on the silk of her stomach and the apple of her bosom, with only the tip of his fingers to torture her while, below, he licked and cajoled, and licked again, so slowly, so sensuously, mindful of his gruff. Just the swipe of his tongue and the tease of his nose, sometimes a kiss to suck, sometimes a velvety growl to plunge deeper.</p><p>Daenerys had never known lovemaking could feel like this. She was beautiful under Jorah’s kisses. She felt like a gift. And, oh! How Jorah took his time unwrapping her. He made her sense every kiss. He made her hear them too, coaxing music from her honeyed flesh as his moans of contentment made her sex clench, and pulse again on every rumbling of ‘give me more’ and ‘I’ll never, ever stop’ seducing more syrupy bliss from her lips. Because how gorgeous she was, how delectable, how so very much alive to his passion! Jorah caressed his lady so expertly, she writhed again on his mouth, slipping her fingers between his golden curls while he invited her gaze, to watch him pleasure her. And watch she did—until the wanton sight made her shatter again, under Jorah’s contented big game purr.</p><p>Only after hearing Daenerys plead and call to him, did the Captain glide back into her arms, to whisper there, teasingly, yet guilty of having splurged on his own need of her: “Forgive me, Khaleesi?”</p><p>“W-what?” It was Daenerys’s turn to feel dizzy from pleasure, and all she managed to say, still heaving, and with stars in her eyes, was: “My love, there was a wench in Marseille I need to thank for this, wasn’t there?” She kissed his bashful smile then, laughing softly. Her lips glided on the creaminess of her, maculating her Captain’s gruff and the tenderness of his lips.</p><p>Her essence on her Love, how glorious!</p><p>Jorah’s lips were so soft and tender, as she took them. And so warm, and prickly too, like his embrace.</p><p>How warm, and tingling, her caresses on my skin, echoed Jorah. How could this be again? Their touching? Did he care to understand this sorcery? No, he was feeling, exulting, living! Daenerys’ hands were tracing his shoulders, and digging into his biceps while he kissed her, and she kissed him back. His vertigo was hers, he could tell, from her eyes, still amazed and giving grace between words of love, as his arms kept pulling her to him, to that hungry part of him. The surge was coming back; the hunger was pulsating once more, tyrannical and burning.</p><p>“Daenerys!” he rumbled, because he had to… as he felt Daenerys’ hand once more on the carnal root of his desire, so firm under the softness of his long woolly underwear. He had kept them, though it could not contain his form, pushing up and free, as if obeying Daenerys’ daring caresses, but he meant for the garment to act like a last rampart. To protect his Lady from him, or his heart from her. How fitting that he should be the one to resist her, again, whispering no…</p><p>“And why not, my love?”</p><p>Daenerys was undoing the tiny buttons on Jorah’s crotch to free the whole of the beast lying in wait, ready to pounce once more. She was hypnotising him away from saying no, and sighing on the girth of him, and his length, rising mightily from the parting garment, over the golden fur covering his stomach. Jorah looked more formidable than in her dream, harder still than before.</p><p>Oh! She wanted him! She wanted to take him, slowly this time, purposefully, and feel him nestle inside her, and furrow there, his girth testing her and stealing her breath away!</p><p>Daenerys sighed, and found she had whispered her thoughts out loud because a rumble soon expanded her Captain’s chest as he tried to resist her touch. Oh! Let him try! she thought, with a sultry smile. It made her sex pulse furiously, another moan of anticipation escaping her lips, while trying to latch onto Jorah’s.</p><p>“My love, my love, hear me…” Jorah whispered, his breath shallow.</p><p>“But I am listening, my darling Jorah…”</p><p>Daenerys couldn’t keep the temptress from her voice and her Captain moaned, feeling and then seeing her fingers once more harvest tears of pleasure from him… while, this time, bringing them to her lips. How devilish, how coquettish… He had to kiss her roughly then, like a man pleading for pity.</p><p>“If I know you this way again,” he growled, his mouth letting her go but not his hips, as he was thrusting slowly into her caress, clearly forgetting himself, “I won’t ever be able to let you go.”</p><p>“But I don’t want you to let me go!” Daenerys whispered into his kiss, while guiding his hips to her.</p><p>No, please, no… If her flesh became his home, truly, how could he give her away to another man? How would he—but he was fighting a losing battle.</p><p>“Captain Mormont, I burn for you. Come to me…”</p><p>Daenerys was tugging on his garment, slowly pulling it off him, the wool gliding over his contracted buttocks.</p><p>“Daenerys…”</p><p>Oh darling, hush, Daenerys’ eyes seemed to answer Jorah, like her hand, caressing his muscled rump, her nails branding him. She had him naked at last, and though he was still fighting her, his chest expanded, proud, warm and hard, and Jorah sighed in relief letting the whole of himself sink down on his Queen, for a kiss, deep and soft and moist and, without a doubt, hungry for more.</p><p>He was opening her thighs and rolling his hips to her; he couldn’t help it. He was damning himself but he couldn’t stop!</p><p>Jorah moaned low, diving back to Daenerys’ mouth, to kiss her, knowing, just knowing how good this would feel. To invade her, the very moment she soared. And yet, and yet…</p><p>
  <em>Someone alive, someone who’d grow old with her, and give her children maybe; someone she truly deserved. Not you. Not you…</em>
</p><p>So why was he lifting himself on parted knees and snaking his arm around Daenerys’ waist to bring her back to him? Why was he letting his cock find its way to the overflow of honey parting her pearly gate?</p><p>
  <em>Damn his soul! Damn him for not being strong enough. For wanting her, for wanting a taste of happiness.</em>
</p><p>“Please, my love, more…” Daenerys breathed, as she felt Jorah teasing her, with just the crown of him testing her. Her hands crumpled the sheets next to her, as she tried to impale herself on what she craved.</p><p>Oh! How he growled again, hearing her plea and feeling her reach for him. He would claim her for himself then. Yes, for himself! Damn the one who’d come after him, the one deserving! Daenerys was his, in this moment, right this second. She was!</p><p>“My Love… Look at me!” Jorah whispered, calling his Lady’s eyes to him. Daenerys let out a quivering breath then… just before feeling Jorah invade her.</p><p><em>Gods!</em> His heaving, and hers, telling each other of their need for a shared ecstasy. They dived together, and how glorious the crescendo of their joining!</p><p>
  <em>Khaleesi!</em>
</p><p>Jorah was roaring into Daenerys’ mane, and then biting into her swollen lips, as he was feasting once more on her flesh, his hands intertwining in hers until he had them pinned over her head, to anchor his thrusts. He was possessing her…</p><p>… but it was Daenerys murmuring: “You are mine…”</p><p>Yes, she kept whispering it, looking into her Captain’s eyes, her pupils completely dilated, while he filled her with his hardness, thrusting in, so deep, over and over again.</p><p>This was madness. What was he doing? He wanted her free, not chained to him.</p><p>And of course, just then, she had to whisper…</p><p>“I want you unleashed, my love!”</p><p><em>Gods, please!</em> Jorah dropped his forehead to Daenerys’ bosom, as in defeat, but abiding by her wishes, thrusting hard now to make her quiver, his rump contracting and his mouth worshipping the suppleness of her breasts. Because he could. Because, deep down, he wanted to. His mouth feasting on her while he foraged and bucked and nestled, driving himself to the brink of pleasure while his love moaned his name.</p><p>And as Daenerys came again, digging her nails in his flesh, with his name catching in her throat, Jorah swore: <em>Tomorrow. Tomorrow…</em> Tomorrow he would let her go.</p><p>Yes, Jorah had sworn it every time, every night, but he knew now it had to be. It had to be. If he loved her, and he did, it had to be! He would be brave and selfless, and hold off, hold off his need of her.</p><p>
  <em>My Love, you must choose life. Tomorrow, you will, do you hear me, Khaleesi? Whatever the reckoning…</em>
</p><p>Could she hear him? Could she, in her mind?</p><p>Jorah peered down into Daenerys’ eyes, while still nesting in the secret of her, moving there like the undertow, before taking her to deeper waters… He saw her gazing back, trying to speak, but he was quicker, speaking to her soul.</p><p>
  <em>While I set you free, set your new course, Khaleesi. Forget me. If you remember us loving this way, it will destroy me and only confuse you.</em>
</p><p>There were tears in Daenerys’ eyes and her hands were trying to free themselves from Jorah’s grip! She could hear him, then. She fought every utterance, with her whimpers, her kisses, her body now lifting to meet his thrusts, accelerating the coming of the waves, to quiet him, quiet him, quiet him… but still, Jorah forged on.</p><p>
  <em>It will shatter whatever chance you have left at happiness.</em>
</p><p>“No Jorah! Please, I said… I said forevermore!” Daenerys’ voice broke out loud, sobs now mixing with the heaving of pleasure, mounting, and mounting and then a whimper and a sob: “Damn you…”</p><p>“Yes, curse me away from you, my love. Do it! Banish me yourself!” Jorah answered her, with his man’s voice through the crescendo bringing them closer and closer to release.</p><p>
  <em>You must make your own life amongst the living, Khaleesi. It was always on the chart. Whether you meet fair winds or foul, finding your own way to harbour in the end.</em>
</p><p>“No! I love you…”</p><p>“Daenerys, listen to me.”</p><p>She was so close now! But so was he! He could feel it, Daenerys’ pulsating walls calling to his own engorged and burning flesh. But he needed to banish himself from her mind, to free her.</p><p>Jorah made Time slow around his Lady and him, as he lifted himself from Daenerys’ offered body, covered in pearly beads of sweat. His arm still around her waist, he never stopped bringing her to his crouched form, nor stopped his thrusting, rhythmically, but slowly now, as he rose himself on his knees.</p><p>
  <em>Our lovemaking has been a dream, Daenerys.</em>
</p><p>It’s what he whispered in her mind and she reeled on his words, closing her eyes, letting Jorah engulf her. She whimpered, feeling him write his incantation on her body, the tip of his fingers tracing the words on her quivering skin.</p><p>
  <em>It’s been a dream, Daenerys.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>From the start.</em>
</p><p>Jorah let his hand glide from her swan’s neck, down her collarbones, to the bud of her breasts, the softness of her abdomen where the crown of his shaft could be seen pushing up. She was meeting his thrusts, slow and purposeful, pleading for him to stop his incantation. But it was too late, now, for him to stop and for her to stop her cresting. The moon was reaching its zenith in the sky, and Jorah was about to climax, he could barely contain it, waiting for his Love to shatter—and yet, how he wished he could keep ‘the end’ at bay.</p><p>
  <em>In the morning and the weeks to come, Khaleesi… you’ll only remember this moment as a dream… and it’ll die… it’ll die…</em>
</p><p>In the final instants, Jorah understood he was never going to come closer to being a real-live man again, all of his senses raw and his heart breaking. His soul was becoming one with his Lady’s, just as he was setting her free. She answered him by moaning his name, and thrusting up, pushing towards him, pushing him towards ecstasy as she was shattering. To punish him, surely.</p><p>And, suddenly, it was as if there was a tempest at sea! A perfect storm in which Jorah was steering his ship over the hugest wave about to roll and crash. He could see it. He could sense it!</p><p>And he let go of the rudder—</p><p>—To feel himself pulsate his release in the secret of his Love, her name breaking on his lips, his pleasure as incandescent as hers. It seemed to last forever.</p><p>Until a volley of bells tolled far away and forced Jorah to open his eyes.</p><p>He had to go.</p><p>Foolish, so foolish of him, to think a ghost could become a man!</p><p>He let himself fall upon Daenerys then, his arms embracing her close before his eyes locked with hers one last time—</p><p>
  <em>Oh… lay me down, my love, and roll me out to sea.</em>
</p><p>—in order to kiss her before vanishing. <em>Now,</em> for fear the courage to do so left him. <em>Now</em>, before her eyes told him she would never forgive him.</p><p>
  <em>You must choose Life and only remember our lovemaking as a dream, Khaleesi… and it’ll die… as all dreams must die at waking.</em>
</p><p>It was the last thing Daenerys heard.</p><p>Before oblivious slumber engulfed her.</p><p>And erased, from her mind, the memory of Jorah, loving her.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. A love in limbo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>When Jorah robs Daenerys of memories of their intimacy, to free her and follow her heart, the return of Daario Naharis makes them experiment the torment of limbo. And yet, and yet... won't true love prevail?</p>
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</p><p>THE KEEP – CHAPTER 12</p><p>When she opened her eyes, Daenerys took her time waking up, pushing the cobwebs of some dream or nightmare away. Something was different in her body, which felt so… so satiated. It was so very confusing, to be all at once elated and sad. Her hand came to rest on her belly. It ached deliciously, just over her Venus mound. This made her smile, without truly understanding why. But then, when she slipped into her silky robe, and walked about, looking at the whole expanse of her bedroom, something was off. Everything… everything looked somewhat… dull. Like the world had lost its shine. And she was sure the Keep had never, ever, seemed this way to her before.</p><p>It simply looked… so real. So ordinary.</p><p>She tried to snap out of her trance. Walking to her writing desk, still woozy from her slumber—or so she thought—Daenerys lifted the pages she had written the day before, and she smiled, seeing the numerous markings on the paper, questioning the diplomat and the pirate. Then, her eyes peered out the bow window. Didn’t the sun shine brighter there, usually? It was a beautiful morning, but…</p><p>On instinct, she turned to Captain Jorah Mormont’s portrait, as if seeking refuge and support. The painting hung over her fireplace, as always, and lifting her eyes to it, suddenly, Daenerys’ heart beat a little faster. But of course! She was writing her new novel with him, with Jorah!</p><p>She lived with a ghost.</p><p>The room spun at the thought, and she had to sit down, to gather her wits about her. But she never managed to, not really. Her eyes peered once more across the bow window and she wondered about the morning moon. The new Moon. But it had been full last night… hadn’t it? Again, she tried to shake herself from this unsettling feeling of disconnection. And failed.</p><p>Sometime later, Gilly coaxed her into coming down to the beach with her and Samwell. It was only upon seeing the beautiful picnic they had set up, on a table no less, with linens and cutlery and flowers, all sprawled out before her on the shimmering sand, that her spirits actually lightened up.</p><p>Gilly and Samwell had wed spur of the moment—on Christmas Eve, was it? And why was it so difficult to remember?—therefore, they had never celebrated their union with friends. They chose Midsummer’s Day to rejoice and invite all their loved ones, Samwell’s family and Gilly’s new friends, to gather ‘round them. The banquet was beautiful and so appetising looking. Raising her eyes to Gilly, Daenerys wondered if she had helped her. Oh Gods, she had no recollection of having done anything! But Gilly was smiling to her, without a care, and so was Samwell.</p><p>When it came time to raise their glasses for a toast, Gilly announced teary-eyed, over her ruby cranberry cocktail, that she and Samwell would be parents soon. Everyone assembled exploded with joy, Daenerys included, until, kissing her dear friend and the proud father to be, she remembered some vague argument; a wish, was it? An admonition?</p><p>Someone had mourned her being without a husband, or without a child, but not she! Someone was coaxing her to—</p><p>“Oh! won’t you come swimming with us, Daenerys?” exclaimed Gilly. Samwell had rented bathing chambers in which you could change and then exit directly into the water. The portable huts came with ropes for people who couldn’t swim, so they could hang on while enjoying the surf.</p><p>
  <em>Teethers to keep her afloat, keep her grounded, keep her here…</em>
</p><p>‘Forever and a day,’ yes. Remembering, Daenerys turned to look at her driftwood totem in the distance and smiled. Little children were gathering ’round it, running their fingers in the grooves of the inscription. The Captain’s inscription. It seemed so long ago…</p><p>“Daenerys!” insisted Gilly, from afar. Samwell was holding her hand to guide her gently into the water. Such a gentleman. It made her smile and she decided to join them.</p><p>Oh! She was glad for the cold seawater! It somehow revived her; waking her up to the beauty of her surroundings and her friends rejoicing life’s cycles. When she stepped out of the ocean, her frilly swimming suit clinging to her forms, she felt awake again. A woman in full possession of herself. And she walked out of the water like…</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“…Venus born out of the sea!”</p><p>“Oh! Mister Naharis, really,” objected Daenerys. She had walked up the cliff to fetch more refreshments and was glad she had dressed for the trek or else she would have been mortified to encounter Daario Naharis. Instead, she had to admit, it was a rather fitting surprise, and not altogether displeasing. Nothing looked quite the same, today.</p><p>“Life is just one coincidence after another, isn’t it?” Daario Naharis said from behind his easel. He was dressed in bohemian summer garb, which suited him and his easy good looks, and he was… improvising himself a painter, sitting on his portable stool, on the bluff overlooking the ocean and The Keep. <em>What was he doing here?!</em></p><p>Rising, he bowed gallantly to Daenerys, and extended his hand to present her with a handkerchief. Her handkerchief.</p><p>“Thank you for returning it to me,” Daenerys said, shielding her eyes from the sun and not quite believing this was really happening.</p><p>“I feel rather ashamed about having taken it.” Daario’s bashfulness was for show, of course.</p><p>Daenerys raised an eyebrow. “You should be.”</p><p>“Only as a writer, of course. It was much too obvious a device,” he added, mock-scolding himself.</p><p>“And in questionable taste,” Daenerys retorted.</p><p>“But very necessary. I wanted to have something of you until I saw you again.”</p><p>“And it took you months to find me? Not very impressive for an adventurer!”</p><p>She had piqued him, but he only smiled.</p><p>“Do you know how many Whitecliff villages there are in the British Isles, my dear? Sproule categorically refused to give me your address—protecting you from my advances, I’m sure—”</p><p>“I’m sure,” smirked Daenerys.</p><p>“—and so, it left me little choice but to bribe the clerk. Finally, you do know you live at the ends of the World, yes? It took me forever to reach your island!”</p><p>“And all this to paint a picture of a beach?”</p><p>“Ah! Not quite, you’re forgetting the return of a stolen handkerchief! I simply had to make amends.”</p><p>Daenerys shook her head. Though she didn’t truly let on, she was rather flattered by Daario’s efforts and attention. Somehow, their sparring reminded her of… of… But the memory eluded her after brushing her mind. Smiling, she simply nodded in the direction of his easel.</p><p>“You’re quite accomplished, aren’t you? I should think being a bestseller ‘author’ would satisfy anyone.”</p><p>“No. I also paint… under the name of Picasso.”</p><p>“Oh, you’re such a fool.”</p><p>“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”</p><p>“And what, if anything, do you do as Daario Naharis?”</p><p>“Play the fool, generally. Specifically, I behaved quite idiotically towards a certain young lady that I fell in love with while waiting for my publisher’s good pleasure.”</p><p>“Mister Naharis, please.”</p><p>“I have no illusions about my conduct. Am I being unforgivably offensive, Dany?”</p><p>“Dany?”</p><p>“That’s your name.”</p><p>“It’s been so long since anyone called me that. No, you’ve done nothing really unforgivable. It’s just that I’m not—”</p><p>“Come and take a look at my canvas.”</p><p>Curiosity killing the cat, Daenerys did just that and—</p><p>“Why, it’s me! You’ve been painting me. You’ve been watching me bathe?!”</p><p>“But from a respectable distance. Not too bad, is it?”</p><p>The rendition of her was in the cubist tradition, which was all the rage these days in Europe, and her deconstructed figure looked rather like Marcel Duchamp’s Nude descending a staircase or, yes, Picasso’s Les demoiselles d’Avignon! It was quite impressive actually, but she was not going to feed his ego with a compliment.</p><p>“It will need a thousand Picassos,” she said instead.</p><p>“That was unforgivable, wasn’t it? But I shall not go away, even if you send me… and I shall see you again, even if you forbid it.”</p><p>“I’m sure I have no control over where you go or… or what you do.”</p><p>He was so full of himself really, but in a playful way and, somehow, she didn’t really foresee what came next.</p><p>“Then you won’t forbid it,” he said.</p><p>And he kissed her.</p><p>*</p><p> </p><p><em>So now you’ve been kissed like the heroines from your mother’s library,</em> Daenerys thought to herself, somewhat in shock.</p><p>Why did she let him? <em>He took me unaware.</em></p><p>No, he hadn’t. Not really.</p><p>She had seen Daario Naharis’ gaze change before he swooped down. She could have backed away then. But she didn’t. And so, he plucked at her lips to take what he wished. Leaving her without a retort. She just wondered if a kiss was supposed to feel this way. Like something sweet and yet somewhat mundane. Her husband had not been a kisser… And no one else had ever kissed her, so… Except in her dreams, maybe? She could tell Daario wondered about her lack of reaction, but his smile was roguish when he backed away, bowing gallantly. Daenerys had simply stood, watching him go: his tall satisfied frame sauntering down the road with his easel.</p><p>
  <em>He took me by surprise.</em>
</p><p>She could almost hear the Captain’s laughter in her mind: “My dear, since Eve picked the apple… no woman’s ever been taken entirely unawares.”</p><p>“Just what do you mean to insinuate by that?” she snapped back.</p><p>Daenerys was very good at holding entire make-believe conversations in her mind. And this being a New Moon today, she would indeed be without Jorah. Her conscience though…</p><p>“Well now, my dear, what happens next?” Daenerys made Jorah ask her.</p><p>“He’ll stay, or he’ll go away. It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other,” she tried to convince herself.</p><p>Having reached the veranda, she turned to peer down Lighthouse Road. To that little speck of dust in the far distance named Daario Naharis.</p><p>“I think it matters to you more than you’re willing to admit,” she told herself. Out loud, this time.</p><p>***</p><p>“Good day!”</p><p>“Oh! Captain, you’re back!” exclaimed Daenerys, genuinely happy to see him.</p><p>She was smiling to her tall translucid landlord, from over her shoulder, as she was trying to fix Daario’s portrait of her above the mantlepiece in the parlour; where the Captain’s portrait used to hang.</p><p>Jorah could have helped her, but he found himself paralyzed—with fear. Though he made sure his expression remained neutral.</p><p>This was going to be torture, wasn’t it? To look at Daenerys, be with her, write with her, spar with her as if nothing had transpired between them. As if their last night together, and all the other nights before it, had not happened. To be near her without touching her, when he knew they could touch. And to not love her when he knew she still loved him. Didn’t she? Regardless of his return. That ridiculous Mario Daharis, or whatever his name was that he could never remember! Seven hells, had he let her go for the likes of him?</p><p>“I’m so very glad you’re here, Jorah. Like my picture?”</p><p>“No,” he heard himself say, rather more abruptly than he intended.</p><p>“That’s honest, anyway.”</p><p>“It’s indecent, that’s what it is!” <em>Might as well continue along the same track.</em> “If that is supposed to be you, madam, I have half of mind to lodge a complaint at the Royal Academy in Edinburgh. And, furthermore, him painting you in your bathing costume like you were a… <em>coquette</em>!”</p><p>“Oh, come, Captain,” she answered good-naturedly. “This is the 20th century. We must rid ourselves of the old fetishes and taboos.”</p><p>“Huh! Learned a lot of new words while I was away, have we?”</p><p>“We’re never too old to learn,” she answered breezily, her eye appraising her portrait on the wall.</p><p>“No. Nor to make fools of ourselves either.”</p><p>“I wish you wouldn’t be so superior just because you’re… not alive,” she piqued him. Just to see.</p><p>“While he is, very much so, I presume,” Jorah declared, squaring his jaw.</p><p>This time, she turned to him, cocking her head.</p><p>“Captain, if you’ve just come back, how is it you know Daario Naharis has been calling on me?”</p><p>“Why, I… I overheard Gilly mention him. She doesn’t like him either, you know.”</p><p>“Well,” Daenerys smirked, in too good a mood to chide Jorah, whose jealousy she rather enjoyed, “It’s no crime to be alive.”</p><p>“No, my dear,” he answered her in earnest, changing his tone while approaching her. “Sometimes it’s a great inconvenience. The living can be hurt.”</p><p>He stopped before getting too close to Daenerys. But he couldn’t stop the love he felt for her from shining through his eyes.</p><p>“I don’t intend to be hurt,” she answered him sweetly, her steps drawn to him, as always.</p><p>“No captain intends to pile his ship up on a reef, but it happens.” He was murmuring in his velvet voice, damning himself for not being able to keep his distance either.</p><p>“You yourself said I should go about in the world,” she reminded him.</p><p>She did this like someone takes a foil to an adversary’s breast and… snaps off a button! Near the heart, preferably.</p><p>“That means taking risks,” she concluded.</p><p>
  <em>He would have to trust her. He needed to let her go. He needed to bow down.</em>
</p><p>“I know, my dear,” Jorah said, his tone expressing so much tenderness suddenly. “Real happiness is worth almost any risk… but be careful. There may be breakers ahead.”</p><p>“I will, Jorah.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>At least, they had their writing. This new book which belonged to them, and only them! And which made it possible to, once more, hide their feelings in plain sight. Well, his, at least, Jorah thought, not able to keep anxiety at bay. He had wished for Daenerys to forget their intimacy and it was working… too well. She never called him ‘my Love’ anymore, though the fire in her was still there when they sparred, as was the longing in her voice when, softly, she’d call him ‘Jorah’ instead of ‘Captain.’</p><p>It was all so very painful.</p><p>Because there was also a dash of excitement in Daenerys, and a spring in her gait, when <em>he’d</em> call on her, interrupting their working session. She’d waltz out of the room then, in a woosh of her lovely summer dresses, after bidding him farewell.</p><p>“My Lady,” Jorah would whisper, while bowing, with his arms folded behind his back.</p><p>Maybe… maybe he should have left entirely. To free her. To really free her. And himself.</p><p>But who would watch over Daenerys? Who would make sure her heart was not trampled over? Who would—Jorah sighed. Oh! Who was he trying to fool? Yes, he thought himself his Queen’s dashing Guard, her Knight in shining armour. But the deeper truth was that he was being selfish. He could not let her go completely. He would take whatever her heart could still give him… while she sailed away from him.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>Daenerys was not in love with Daario Naharis. She didn’t think so, at any rate. Or rather, she didn’t quite know what she was feeling these days.</p><p>Daario was exciting, like a visit to the fair, where you can splurge on cotton candy and pretend to be frightened in the Horror House, or giggle when you bumped your nose in the Hall of Mirrors, all the while forgetting to come home on time, lulled astray by the sound of the barrel organ.</p><p>And yet, every time they kissed, because they did kiss, furtively, in fleeting seconds away from prying eyes, Daenerys was left wanting, and feeling strangely aloof. Like this was all part of some experiment… in living. In being normal.</p><p>Trying it on for size, as it were.</p><p>But, if truth be told, it wasn’t with Daario Naharis that she felt most alive. It was with her contrary ghost. But Jorah was so distant these days. It made her doubt what she thought she could still see in his eyes. And besides, what if he was right, after all? She seemed to remember him, telling her to… to… She couldn’t quite recollect, except to sense he was forcing her to chart a new course for herself, away from tempestuous seas and all the way into port. The busiest, most mercantile, and noisiest one of all. That of real life.</p><p>And Daario Naharis certainly acted like its harbour master!</p><p>He was spending the summer on Bear Island, pretexting some research on ancient pirate coves for his new adventure yarn. Though when he found the time to explore, Daenerys didn’t quite know, as Daario called on her more and more often, and always appeared impeccably dressed, as if he’d spent an inordinately large amount of time grooming himself.</p><p>“You don’t like him, do you, Gilly?” Daenerys recalled asking her friend, with a little smirk, while they were cooking together.</p><p>“He uses perfume. Nearly drove me out of me own kitchen.”</p><p>“Well then, you shouldn’t have let him into your ‘domain’ in the first place,” Daenerys teased Gilly.</p><p>“It seems you can find an excuse for everything, ‘Your Grace’!” Gilly exclaimed, putting down her big knife.</p><p>“Only because you’re attacking him, ‘Mrs Tarly’!” Daenerys answered in turn.</p><p>“I’ll have you know, Daenerys Targaryen, that it’s just a natural human reaction when one is faced with an entitled… buffoon!”</p><p>At that, Daenerys raised an eyebrow and almost commanded Gilly for her choice of ‘big words’ but she thought better of it and simply chuckled, coaxing her friend into a hug, minding her baby bump, to shush her groan. And while she held her close, her forehead leaning on hers, Daenerys tried to reassure her.</p><p>“Now, Gilly. There’s nothing to worry about. I know he isn’t perfect. Perhaps he’s conceited and erratic…”</p><p>At that, Gilly pulled away, huffing.</p><p>“Even childish,” Daenerys conceded, “but… he’s real.”</p><p>“Real?”</p><p>As soon as the question left her lips, Gilly understood what Daenerys meant. Though her friend thrived in her make-believe world, maybe she got lonely in it too and felt… felt the need for companionship and laughter and all the things a woman needs. She supposed her friend needed love.</p><p>The anger left Gilly as quickly as it had reared its ugly head, and she took Daenerys’ hand in hers.</p><p>“He makes you happy?”</p><p>“He… amuses me.”</p><p>Gilly nodded a few times and then, she couldn’t resist: “Just so you know, Your Grace, if <em>he</em> ever happens to amuse himself with <em>you</em>, I won’t be held responsible for any arsenic slippin’ into his cup o’ tea.”</p><p>***</p><p>Jorah and Daenerys were laughing over a scene that had their heroine throwing the pirate she loved overboard. It felt good to hear her Captain’s beautiful rumble, thought Daenerys, and Jorah cherished seeing her violet eyes sparkle. He would secure these gems in his treasure chest the day she would leave this house, and leave him. But he couldn’t think about that just yet. He couldn’t!</p><p>Oh! How wondrous the complicity they shared right now! The hours could stand still, and both would not care in the least for finding themselves trapped in a bottle thrown at sea. It’s what they both seemed to think as they found each other in closer proximity than usual, with Jorah leaning down into Daenerys’ rambunctious smile. For a second, Daenerys held her breath, on the verge of remembering, remembering something important…</p><p>Remembering them? thought the Captain, fear gripping his heart. Seeing his Love near that precipice, Jorah pulled back, his elbow catching the flower vase on their writing desk. Daenerys yelped, reaching to secure it, while Jorah did the same, their hands and bodies coming even closer to being in contact. It was a vertigo-inducing moment, charged with electricity, and the Captain was powerless to stop Daenerys from once more squirting the boundaries of her remembrances.</p><p>
  <em>His face over hers, his breath heaving, with amour and suffering; his eyes leaving hers, to fall to her throat, offered, and which he burned with his beard and passionate kisses, rasping there, ‘Khaleesi’…</em>
</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah whispered, with the same intensity, but next to her, in the here and now, to bring Daenerys back to reality. But she only whispered his name in turn, her pupils still dilated, transfixed by his glance, and then his lips, opening inside his burnished gruff…</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah repeated, shifting ever so slightly away from her, his hand firmly on the vase. “There. See? All’s well!”</p><p>But it was not working. Still in her trance, Daenerys followed Jorah, her body leaning towards him, her face lifted to his as if caught in the meshes of his scent, the faint odour of vanilla and tobacco rising from his skin… He looked so real today! The full moon was upon them.</p><p>Gods, please, make this stop! Jorah couldn’t swallow anymore.</p><p>“Captain…” Daenerys whispered, her eyes falling to his lips.</p><p>He had no choice then. His hand… pulled on the vase—and it crashed to the floor, the sound of broken crystal shocking Daenerys awake.</p><p>She blinked; she saw the shards of glass and the flowers sprawled on the wooden floor and, when she lifted her eyes again, the Captain had vanished. Just as Gilly was knocking on her bedroom door and opening it, alarmed by the noise.</p><p>“I… I had a mishap,” Daenerys said to Gilly, her voice shaking slightly.</p><p>“Oh! you scared me!” breathed Gilly, somewhat relieved. Then, bouncing back: “Well, as they say, when it rains, it pours: your friend Mr Naharis is here and—”</p><p>“Oh, we’re having a picnic,” Daenerys remembered.</p><p>“You mean <em>he</em> is,” Gilly said under her breath, not minding the look her mistress gave her. “Do I shoo him away—yes, please—or…?”</p><p>Gilly’s sardonic humour having finished to bring her back to the world of the living, Daenerys shook her head and smirked.</p><p>“No, be so kind as to ask him to wait… I was right in the middle of a chapter and—”</p><p>“Yes, he always disrupts your working schedule, I’ve noticed. Have you?” Gilly insisted, coming in to help clean the mess about the floor and writing desk.</p><p>Daenerys tried to say something witty but was left to groan instead.</p><p>*</p><p>Alas, regardless of Daario’s ill-timing, Daenerys showed only signs of enjoying herself in his presence. It’s what Gilly could observe, from the rear veranda of The Keep, as she looked at her friend posing in the orchard while her beau sat at his easel, and was making her laugh. Gilly couldn’t tell what he was telling her, but she sighed when she saw him get to his feet to change Daenerys’ pose near the apple trees.</p><p>“What’s he want with her?” Gilly murmured, incapable of warming up to the stranger.</p><p>“Yes, what’s he up to?”, seconded the Captain, as he walked silently from behind Gilly to stand right next to her. Without making himself seen, of course.</p><p>“Well, I rather think he’s going to ask her to marry him,” Gilly mumbled, speaking to herself.</p><p>“And she’d be willing to?” Jorah asked, sombrely, knowing Gilly couldn’t possibly hear him. Both of them were keeping their eyes on the couple, looking so pretty in the summer light, and the grass full of bright poppies.</p><p>“She might accept at that. Why shouldn’t she?”</p><p>“Because he’s not good enough for her, Gilly!” Jorah huffed. “That’s why not! Aardio Hanaris, what kind of name is that anyway?”</p><p>“What kind of name is that, Daario Naharis?” echoed Gilly, yet calling him by his rightful patronym. Which made Jorah wince.</p><p>“No decent woman should associate with such a character,” he added.</p><p>“Yet, what right have we to talk like that?” Gilly protested, her use of the pronoun “we” making Jorah start and look at her.</p><p>“If you exist, Captain,” Gilly explained, her eyes shifting to the air above her, “you’d do well to do or say something to her.”</p><p>Jorah opened his mouth, to speak, but found he had nothing to retort.</p><p>Gilly was looking at her hands, now, her fingers brushing her wedding band before caressing the swell of her belly.</p><p>“You see, I got a feeling about him, and it ain’t good.”</p><p>At that, Jorah winced again and lifted his eyes to Daenerys, laughing in the distance while Daario was mimicking exasperation behind his easel.</p><p>“Well, Captain… haven’t you anything to say?” Gilly tried one last time.</p><p>“I want her to be happy, Gilly, and… and she is, is she not?” Jorah murmured, his eyes still to Daenerys but letting go of his anger and feelings of entitlement, like a Knight surrendering his sword.</p><p>“You could at least make it rain on them, once in a while,” Gilly concluded, with her eyes squinting to the glory of the sky. Then, she sighed, and walked back inside, leaving the Captain alone with his conscience and his spleen, his eyes glued to Daenerys.</p><p>“If I made it rain,” he said to no one in particular, “they would run inside. And,” he added, his voice dropping so low it sounded like the last thunder on Earth, “there are so, so many bedrooms unused, waiting to come alive with her sighs.”</p><p>Jorah smiled sadly. And then he let go of the balustrade and walked back inside, leaving his Love free to follow her heart.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p>“Dany please, come now… For <em>moi?</em>” Daario was pleading, advancing towards Daenerys who was backing from him, her steps drawing them deeper into the orchard and her smirk not exactly discouraging.</p><p>“Don’t you want me to become a great artist? I shall never be one if my muse refuses me her beauty.”</p><p>“Oh! Mister Naharis, I would not find myself naked with you were you the only painter left in the World,” Daenerys laughed.</p><p>“What if I became a sculptor?” he proposed.</p><p>They were flirting, as usual, until the mood shifted slightly when Daenerys found herself backing up to a tree. She could have escaped still, but she didn’t. She was curious. She looked at Daario’s handsome face and his dandy litheness approach her, amidst the sunrays filtering through the branches, and she thought he resembled the proverbial snake come to tempt Eve in the Garden of Eden. Down to his arm, coming for her or, rather, coming for the tiny baubles of nacre running down her blouse, in the hopes, surely, to open them one by one. She narrowed her eyes and let him touch the first one. He stopped, with his fingers delicately poised over it.</p><p>“Do you know I think this orchard enchanted, Dany?” Daario susurrated seductively.</p><p>“Because I reign over it?” Daenerys asked, one eyebrow arching… but not lifting a finger to stop Daario from popping the first of her buttons.</p><p>“Stealing the words right out of my mouth,” he conceded, popping another button and adding, “but also because it’s been in bloom since… forever, it seems to me.”</p><p>“Oh! Yes… You see the climate must be perfect all the year!” she smiled coolly, while sensing the breeze caress her skin where her blouse was now falling open.</p><p>“July and August cannot be too hot,” she said, quoting Jorah, her heart tugging at itself with melancholy. “And there’s a legal limit to the snow here. At the Keep.”</p><p>Her eyes could not have been more mesmerising to Daario, and yet he failed to see the sadness in them.</p><p>Daenerys was gazing at her predator, this perfectly handsome suitor, this man endowed with undeniable charm and, surely, virility, but still Daenerys felt strangely aloof, as if she, herself—she, in what defined her, deep down, was not at play. Shouldn’t she want to feel drawn to him? Shouldn’t she want his touch to awaken her? He was so, so much better than her late husband, whom she had learned to play, near the end, in order to survive the ordeal of their marriage. And Daario was also so much more alive than her Captain, or so conventions dictated. They, together, Daario and Dany, as he liked to call her, could sing of youth and love in the summer beauty of The Keep. She knew this. She knew they looked glamorous together! It would be so easy for her to agree to the carnal contract he was proposing. She didn’t care for good manners, after all. In fact, how wonderful it would feel to be naked and abloomed, <em>Regina Primavera</em> in all her glory, in this orchard that was bequeathed to her by… Captain Mormont.</p><p>
  <em>Jorah.</em>
</p><p>Suddenly, Daenerys winced in pain, remembering… remembering just how much she loved Jorah. How could she have forgotten the depth of her own feelings? Was it because she loved a chimaera?… She heard herself speak to Daario, with her faraway voice, her eyes misting over for someone else than him, as he was busy kissing her neck while opening another button.</p><p>“The winter is forbidden till December. And exits March… the second on the dot…”</p><p>“You don’t say?” murmured Daario, only half listening now, because his eyes were about to discover Daenerys’ bosom.</p><p>She wore no corset, no stifling underwear beneath the sheer dual layers of her blouse. She was a free spirit, a free woman, and he was about to make her his. Daario’s hand cupped Daenerys’ breast…</p><p>And she started!</p><p>Not because Daario was touching her but because it felt like someone else entirely caressing her flesh. For just a split-second, Daenerys wasn’t in the sunny orchard anymore, she was blanketed in sunset coloured fog! Yes, in the here and now, Daario was kissing her neck, and caressing her breast, murmuring words of desire… but, in her mind, Skye blue eyes filled with wonder were peering into hers. And a baritone love-sick “Khaleesi” was awakening her heart!</p><p>Oh Gods, what was this?</p><p>“Daario!” Daenerys breathed, snapping out of her trance but willing her voice to sound playful and queenly lest he thought something was afoot. She needed to find her bearings. “I believe… I believe this should be enough to quench your artistic thirst?” she stated, buttoning back her blouse while trying not to quiver. She was smiling into his eyes while he groaned, but sweetly.</p><p>“You torture me, Dany!” he said, letting her escape his embrace. She turned her head to him while stepping back into the sun and the field of poppies.</p><p>“Oh! Mr Naharis, you love it so!”</p><p>It was him, having to lean on the apple tree, while she walked away from the orchard toward The Keep. He didn’t see Daenerys’ smile vanish as soon as her glance left him, and turned to the house, where her feet were taking her. And yet, suddenly seeing her leave his nearness, Daario quickly joined her, catching her arm, and pulling on her hand to make her turn to him.</p><p>“What if I asked you to marry me?” he breathed out, surprising himself.</p><p>She laughed then, almost hurting his feelings… but the picture they composed from afar told another story, one of bliss.</p><p>It’s what Jorah told himself, and not for the first time, as he stood behind a window on the upper floor of the house. He laid his arm on the frame and exhaled, peering down.</p><p>
  <em>Call on a mighty wave to cover me</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Lay me down, and roll me out to sea</em>
</p><p><em>Yes, lay me down…</em> he repeated, <em>once and for all, my Love</em>… peering down on Daenerys and Daario Naharis.</p><p>Daario Naharis. Had he ever not known how to pronounce his name? Of course not. Jorah knew what he was called, this rival he had underestimated.</p><p>The Captain closed his eyes, cursing himself—not them; and he receded back into the shadows of his secret attic.</p><p>Forlorn and misbegotten.</p><p>And yet, down in the poppy field, moved by some unexplainable intuition, Daenerys raised her eyes to The Keep and, squinting in the sun, she remembered, she began to recall something important… someone…</p><p>In the warm, woozy whiteout, all sounds disappeared replaced by Jorah’s voice, speaking to her.</p><p>Her Captain was telling her that, when under the spell of the half-moon, he could, if she allowed him, ‘almost’ touch her. She seemed to remember him approaching her skin, seeing his hand giving off a blueish glow that tickled her softly. How wondrous!</p><p>No, it had to be a dream because he never did try to touch her, did he? It was dangerous, he had been quite adamant about this. And yet… had proposed to massage her after a long day of writing?</p><p>“Keep your eyes on the ocean, madam, and the declining rays through our window,” Jorah had murmured, next to her ear.</p><p>And she had, her skin quivering upon feeling his fingers begin to graze her temples. And then, then, the rest of it… was it a memory or just a dream?</p><p>Daenerys blinked and saw the poppy field again, hearing Daario’s voice playfully calling to her. She meant to respond, she meant to move out of her spell but how could she, when Jorah’s memory was beckoning her?</p><p>“Is this still pleasurable, madam?” he was inquiring, now looking deep inside Daenerys eyes as she laid her head… upon her pillows.</p><p>She was in her bed. The Captain’s bed. And she couldn’t remember exactly how she got there. Nor how she came to be in her state of undress, wearing only her cherished nightgown, but untied and falling over her shoulders. It was night now, and the quarter moonlight was shining through Jorah, as he bent his face to hers.</p><p>How could she breathe, with the azure of his eyes lavishing her with adoration, his face so close to hers, be it translucid and shimmering?</p><p>“Turn around,” Jorah commanded softly.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“So I can medicine your shoulders.”</p><p>This was… this was not proper, was it? So why did Daenerys obey?</p><p>“Tell me of the first tales you ever wrote in your secret journal,” Jorah suggested as he commanded the wind to brush aside his Lady’s hair from the elegant and naked slopes of her scapula. “Tell me of the words and feelings that come to you and we’ll see how I, and your imagination, can sooth you.”</p><p>And Daenerys did. Tell Jorah of her inner life, and the adventures she imagined as a child, the romantic characters she invented later, and the stylistic figures she weaved and how she made them jump through hoops, all the while feeling Jorah caress her back. First her shoulder blades, his almost-touch tickling her deliciously as she felt her nightgown glide down the run of her vertebrae, and then more languid tingling as he ran his spectral fingers from the nape of her neck into her hair, undoing her tresses and tugging slightly on her mane, the motion strangely relieving all her tensions. She was forgetting to speak, just a few words here and there, between sighs, until there came a time when, suddenly, she was facing the Captain again. The back of his hand was gliding down the contour of her cheek, and his knuckles were grazing her collarbone, and his fingers, flipping again, following the grain of her skin on the swell of her nascent bosom.</p><p>Daenerys’ breath was coming quicker now and Jorah had to remain very, very attentive to not let his faery flesh touch the reality of hers. Her breasts, especially, were heaving so, over her quivering words, coming short, it was taking all of his resolve not to caress her in earnest. And all of hers not to plead out loud, to please touch her, truly, and kiss her, kiss her—</p><p>But in the here and now of the poppy field, Daario was walking towards her, like a mirage—smiling, yet with a frown slowly cresting his brow. And she didn’t want him to reach her. She wanted… Jorah.</p><p>“Is there more, madam, to your tale?” Jorah whispered in their bed. His voice was so low and husky, Daenerys whimpered. And whimpered again when he bent his face so close to hers, she drowned in the shiny azure of his eyes.</p><p>Of course, there was more, there could always be more and, as Jorah kept caressing her, even as he was not truly touching her, she remembered another tale, one of love and longing, inspiring the Captain to embody it through his caresses. He lowered his lips and gruff to Daenerys’ neck, making her arch it in offering for him to sample her bewitching perfume. Her pheromones mixing with his alembic concoctions were so divine, a low low rumble escaped his chest. The swell of his desire fuelled the shiver running through his Lady, and it told him of her desire for more, more words of passion, more almost-caresses, and the delicious fear of it. He let her lips draw in more oxygen before pulling back, to ask her ‘where’… “Where did the Knight lay his kisses on his Queen?”</p><p>Trembling, Daenerys locked eyes with Jorah and, very slowly, her left hand came to pull on her nightgown to disrobe her breast, drawing his glance there, drawing it to her exposed flesh, her bosom hardening from want, and her bud straining with the flow of blood rushing to its tip.</p><p>“And was this his downfall then?” Jorah rasped, looking once more into Daenerys’ eyes, while his hand perused the offered fruit of her flesh, making it tingle and come alive with a thousand goosebumps shimmering in the iridescence of his not-quite touch. “Is this where he lost himself?" he added, "because if he didn’t, what a fool he was, my darling.”</p><p>And Daenerys felt it then, she swore! Jorah’s hand cupping her breast tenderly, his thumb brushing her nipple possessively, immodestly, the bud almost hurting now from pleasure, and then made juicy when his tongue lashed at it!</p><p>She had to arch her back and cry out in pleasure… fainting in the poppy field, just as Daario was reaching her.</p><p>When she came to, a second later, they blamed it on the heat. They even jested it was the shock of Daario’s proposal to her. And Daenerys smiled, accepting her would-be fiancé’s tender attentions, and the water he made her drink. But though she could not recall the particulars of her vision, she understood—she felt it deep in her heart—that once upon a time, a love more golden than the sun was bestowed upon her.</p><p>And, lifting her eyes once more to the Keep, she prayed it would come again.</p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Purgatory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Torn between passion and reason, Daenerys confronts her Captain to reclaim her memories... and her heart.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to Itszulasworld for the magnificent photo montage which closes the chapter. It opens the gallery of moodboards.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</p><p> </p><p>THE KEEP - CHAPTER 13</p><p> </p><p>In the days that followed her fainting spell, Daenerys could not shake herself from feeling woozy. Something was missing.</p><p>Like a memory, on the edge of her recollecting.</p><p>Everything pulled her towards Jorah because she sensed he held the key to her malaise, and to her heart—yet he remained so aloof… she felt lost. And Daario was so full of sunshine and levity, and he was so, so insistent. And then, of course: he was <em>so</em> real.</p><p>She was trying very hard to appear normal, to Gilly, to Daario, to Jorah, especially to Jorah, as she found it so difficult to not let him read her confused expression, her gaze, her very countenance. She didn’t laugh anymore with him, she nit-picked his ideas, made their heroine contrary, all the while skirting him, almost cornering him as they moved about in the bedroom, their workroom (and why, <em>why</em> was it the same room?!) or near the telescope. Once or twice, he had to remind her…</p><p>“Madam, please… Keep your distance?”</p><p>Yes, of course, his touch was lethal. But was it? Really? Why didn’t she believe it anymore? She’d sigh then, plagued with too many questions, as if their dance had become an annoyance, and his very presence an ordeal.</p><p>Jorah sensed it. He saw it. Saw it too clearly, the effect of what he had set in motion: erasing their intimacy from Daenerys’ memory. But he could not retrace his steps. He needed to set her free and this was the only way! She had to <em>go into the World</em>.</p><p>Well, it was working. And it cut through him.</p><p>Once, his Lady even called out to Gilly, to please remind her what time Daario said he’d call on her. Jorah should have understood the root of Daenerys’ irritation but he chose not to, stiffening noticeably, before suggesting he leave her to her ablutions. He had simply vanished, noiselessly.</p><p>Daenerys had cried out his name, to make him stay, to make amends, but too late. Letting herself fall to her writing chair, she had cursed out loud and ripped the last page she had been typing to crumple it in her hands.</p><p>It was not what she wanted, for the Captain to disappear and for her to see Daario! But she gave all signs to the contrary. It worried Gilly to see her so frazzled, Daenerys could tell, but she couldn’t confide in her friend. She felt so utterly alone and she was so tired of being stuck midway between normality and some impossible dream.</p><p>More and more, the Lady of the Keep found herself distracted, walking the corridors, and going up the stairs, losing herself in her house.</p><p>One day, deep in thought while putting back some volume in the upper floor’s bookcases, Daenerys thought she saw, from the corner of her eye, a sunbeam that should not have been there, revealing a breach in the wall. She backtracked, only to see a perfectly normal bookcase there. She had been trying to figure out if she had lived or only dreamt a specific moment with Jorah. Distracted, shaking her head, she wondered if she was now seeing things… failing to notice the Captain standing next to her. When she moved away, perplexed, Jorah opened the hidden door to walk up the staircase Daenerys could no longer see, the one leading to the secret room he did not want her to visit again.</p><p><em>This could not go on! </em>they both thought simultaneously, isolated in their silent suffering. <em>She had to choose life!</em> they also thought, knowing reason needed to prevail.</p><p>There were times when Daenerys believed it herself, that this would be for the best. She’d gaze at Gilly, humming through her kitchen chores and rubbing her baby bump. She looked so happy, so sure of herself, so content. Maybe this could be her life too. <em>Should </em>be her life! She had lost Drogo’s child; shouldn’t she want another? She had grieved for the babe, whose memory she kept in the most intimate part of herself, but she was not cursing life for being without a child. And yet, wasn’t this what most women wanted? Why was she fighting it? She made an effort to see Daario as the conduit to this kind of felicity, she truly did. And sometimes, it almost worked. Except…</p><p>Except, it never felt as grand as those <em>other </em>moments when she was writing and creating with Jorah, and assailed by fleeting remembrances of him, touching and kissing her, though he was a ghost. <em>Gods!</em> These images were burning not only her mind but her flesh, and when they were not distracting her days, they were haunting her nights, her actual dreams! And, sometimes, she couldn’t tell one from the other, and it was torture and it was… happiness too.</p><p>
  <em>And it was happening all over again. </em>
</p><p>Jorah’s hand cupping her breast tenderly. Not Daario’s! Her Captain, her golden, elusive, infuriating Captain. So alive in her slumber, so famished for her: ‘<em>his thumb brushing her nipple possessively, immodestly, the bud almost hurting from pleasure, and then made juicy when his tongue lashed at it.’</em></p><p>Of course…</p><p>… This was where Daenerys always shook herself from her daydream… or her actual dream. Oh! She could not even remember having come to bed or fallen asleep this time.</p><p>And yet, it was dark. Night had come. Was she losing her mind?</p><p>She sat up, in her bed, and she put her hand to her beating heart, to calm it. Then, she heard something: the sound of pebbles hitting the bow window.</p><p>A voice was calling to her: “Dany!”</p><p>
  <em>Daario.</em>
</p><p>What was he doing here so late?</p><p>Still shaking from her dream, Daenerys lifted her hands to her burning cheeks and groaned before springing out of bed.</p><p>“Dany!” Daario repeated, his hushed cry irritating Daenerys.</p><p>With a sigh, she grabbed a shawl to cover her shoulders, before running downstairs.</p><p>**</p><p>“Are you mad?!” Daenerys whispered hotly when she reached her suitor amongst the rose bushes.</p><p>“Yes! Yes, I am! I am mad about you, Daenerys Targaryen! I need you; I can’t sleep; I can’t think—”</p><p>“Well,” interrupted Daenerys, “that makes two of us…”</p><p>“I know you think me a cad and a fool, I do. But I’m not! When I’m with you, I want to be a better man. Dany please…”</p><p>His expression was so earnest, he almost seemed to be suffering and it… it gave Daenerys pause.</p><p>“Please say you’ll be mine,” Daario begged, taking Daenerys in his arms, and kissing her.</p><p>This time, he did take her by surprise and his kiss, his kiss just confused her. Her eyes closed, she could still feel Jorah’s faery touch, his almost-touch from her dream, but Daario’s embrace was so real, and she felt it as if for the first time.</p><p>A few paces away, standing tall and dark and paralysed, like some oak tree overtaken by ivy, Jorah felt powerless seeing his Love finally warm up to the man who would give her what he never could. He should not even be there, eavesdropping, spying like this. It was demeaning to him and unrespectful to Daenerys. He had resolved to trust her!</p><p>Jorah tried to tell himself he was there because something, somehow, felt off about Daario. He was of Gilly’s mind… and so he needed to protect his Love; but he also knew he was jealous, pure and simple. That was the truth of it, wasn’t it? And with the full moon giving him the appearance of a real-live man, he only felt it more acutely.</p><p>“Please…” Daario whispered, kissing Daenerys’ neck, breathing there, his hand losing itself in her hair, which he freed, and how dared he! He was crushing her to him, turning on himself, twirling with her, and bringing them farther into the garden, until their bodies collided with the Little Siren’s fountain. The shock broke the figurine again and Daenerys mourned the mermaid’s small arm falling in the water. It only lasted a second—but it tugged at her heart, and it enabled her to pull away from Daario, heaving and overwhelmed.</p><p>“Daario, please,” she whispered, her voice breaking.</p><p>Nearby, looking at his nemesis, Jorah’s hands opened and closed, and his breath became more laborious.</p><p>“Tell me how you feel, sweetheart,” whispered Daario.</p><p>“I don’t know.”</p><p>“Tell me.”</p><p>Daario was pressing Daenerys, and she felt she couldn’t think straight.</p><p>“Like… Like looking down from high up… all dizzy and unsure.”</p><p>“You won’t fall. I’ll hold you.”</p><p>Still hidden, Jorah closed his eyes, hearing his rival utter what he, himself, would have told Daenerys.</p><p>“It isn’t right,” Daenerys tried to protest, “it can’t be, to feel like this… like… I don’t know.”</p><p>“It is right because you’re happy. Aren’t you, Dany?” Daario susurrated, his arms pulling Daenerys once more to him, his hand lowering her shawl. “I can feel the fire in you, I can! When I kiss you now, Dany. It’s right there, just underneath…”</p><p>He kissed her again, this time filling her senses, and overwhelming them, his hands so warm, rushing against the vaporous panels of her nightgown. Daario’s embrace, for the first time, pushed the vision of Jorah from Daenerys’ mind—violently, like severing a limb… and she kissed Daario back. She was so desperate for some kind of connection. Daario was pining for her; the Captain was not. She was miserable and she needed… she needed to be loved!</p><p>Oh! how could Jorah know? All he saw were appearances. And the vision of Daenerys reaching out to Daario, <em>she</em> being the one to kiss <em>him</em>, cut through him. There would be no turning back now. No hope to hang on to.</p><p>Jorah didn’t vanish. He simply walked away, his almost human step heavy on the tender grass, into the shadow of night. Haunted forever, surely, by the last vision of Daenerys as that of a woman in love with someone else than him, kissing amidst violet roses which, as he departed, withered along his path.</p><p>Not knowing anything of Jorah’s despair, Daenerys was trying to get her bearings, hearing Daario as if from afar.</p><p>“I know Gilly has left for the night! Let me in, won’t you? I’m leaving tomorrow, Dany, you know this. Back to Glasgow…”</p><p>“No! I can’t!” Visions of her Captain flooded Daenerys suddenly.</p><p>
  <em>What was she doing here, in his garden, with Daario Naharis? </em>
</p><p>“I need… I need to go back to my writing,” she answered, her speech almost slurred. It made Daario chuckle as he kissed her neck once more, his caresses more pressing.</p><p>“What nonsense is this, my darling? Writing late into the night. Just this once, pretend you’ve forgotten your schedule, your commission, your deadline. I do it all the time.”</p><p>He was trying to make her smile. He was ensnarling her. He was seducing her.</p><p>“But I can’t.”</p><p>“Just this one night.”</p><p>Daenerys suddenly cocked her head at Daario, her vision of him becoming more acute and her instincts flaring up once more.</p><p>“There’ll be so many nights, Daario,” she said, “if you are true… Two lifetimes full, till we’re both old and our books gather dust in some library.”</p><p>Daario winced at her words and pulled back slightly.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” she asked, still studying him.</p><p>“I’m jealous. Of your writing. Of the time you spend away from me. Of this Captain you keep speaking of! Of your cook! Of the Keep. I want you all to myself…”</p><p>“What?—This is my life you are talking about! Begging your pardon if my aspirations are a nuisance!”</p><p>Daenerys had to pause then, to calm her anger. But she was firm when she spoke again: “Writing is how I make a living now, Daario. And it’s my calling! Isn’t it yours? I can’t just lay it aside.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys found herself alone—having looked at Daario leave, indignant—her head was pounding, and her soul aching. How had she found herself torn between two men when she had left London and her past life to be free?</p><p>
  <em>‘She herself had never been able to be altogether herself: it had been denied her.’</em>
</p><p>D.H. Lawrence would soon write this in <em>Lady Chatterley’s Lover</em>, but Daenerys felt like someone had to hear it <em>now</em>.</p><p>“Captain?!” Daenerys cried out, lifting her eyes, only to find that her steps had brought her to the orchard. She had never been here at night and the moonlight gave the white blossoms such an eerie glow.</p><p>It was more than an orchard, Jorah’s enchanted garden, it was a forest. She couldn’t remember reaching the ends of it; its boundary.</p><p>“Captain?!” Daenerys cried out again, walking deeper and deeper inside its grove, ducking below branches catching in her hair. There was only green darkness in the distance, but the full moon was lighting the flowers above her head, like tiny votives, and they were quivering in her wake to shed their petals on her.</p><p>“Show yourself!” <em>Please…</em> “If you have any respect for me; if you ever cared for me—”</p><p>
  <em>Madam!</em>
  
</p><p>Daenerys heard Jorah’s voice, its pained echo, before she saw him materialise next to the tree he had once brought her to, to tell her of his magic, to tell her how her coming here had changed <em>everything</em> for him. Had she imagined this?</p><p>Had she dreamed he had once loved her?</p><p>She looked at him, looked at the manly form of him, standing proud, with the moonlight not shining through him but <em>on</em> him as he took a few steps towards her, towering over her, coming to engulf her like the night. He was so very much the way he appeared to her first: so real, so much like a formidable officer, an unvanquished knight, she had to shut her eyes. How could he be so perfect looking and so unattainable, all at once? Or was this an oxymoron, she thought, feeling defeated. Or worse, synonymous terms? And could she stop thinking like a writer? She was so terribly lost.</p><p>“Jorah… Help me?” she murmured, opening her eyes, only to see her Captain standing very close to her, his face wincing in pain to see her suffer so.</p><p><em>Where was Daario Naharis? Why was he not there to chase her fears away?</em> Jorah thought.</p><p>“Did you have a lovers’ spat, madam? Do you wish me to scare some sense into your fiancé? I can drag him back here, the idiotic fool—”</p><p>“What? No! Jorah, you… <em>you</em> are the one causing me…”</p><p>She couldn’t finish her sentence, the words ached too much, but her eyes told him all. <em>He</em> was the idiotic fool!</p><p><em>Oh Gods, how had it come to this?</em> Jorah thought, his heart constricting. He only wanted her to be happy, to choose life—to find the right path to it.</p><p>“Daenerys…” he whispered. How sad and beautiful she looked, her silver mane dishevelled under the canopy of glowing flowers. He lifted his hand to her cheek and then, thinking better of it, he lowered it slowly, making her wince in pain once more.</p><p>“I…” she started to say, tears ready to spill from her eyes. “I believe, it’s been quite clear, for the longest time now, Captain, that I love you—”</p><p>“Khaleesi, no!” Jorah whispered with despair. But she raised her hand to shush him.</p><p>“I also believe you’ve bewitched me, and not in the glorious way lovers do, Captain. Not in the way you bewitched the orchard, our orchard. Oh Jorah, is it still <em>our </em>orchard? Was it ever?”</p><p><em>It is, my Love, it is. It always was!</em> Oh! how he wished he could tell her and comfort her…</p><p>“I feel dispossessed of myself. I feel…” Now, <em>she</em> was the one to close the remaining distance between them, leaning into him, her eyes so full of longing, and love—just tugging at him. “I feel… you’ve robbed me of you. Of <em>us</em>. Of memories of you and I. You and I <em>being</em>. You and I <em>happening</em>. <em>Becoming</em>.”</p><p><em>Oh no, this was not happening!</em> Jorah was backing away from Daenerys.</p><p>“You and I <em>loving</em> each other!” Daenerys continued, unrelenting. “Have you? Did you do this, Captain?”</p><p>“Khaleesi, please…”</p><p>He didn’t have to say he did, his eyes told her. The pain in his whole demeanour said he had. And though Daenerys knew her instincts were right, this moment right now, seeing the truth unravel in Jorah’s beautiful Skye blue eyes, was worse than anything she could ever have imagined. How could he?!</p><p>“Give it back,” Daenerys demanded, like the deity she was. “If you are a man of honour, Jorah Mormont: give it back!”</p><p><em>“How can I?!”</em> Jorah roared suddenly, his whole body surging forward and making Daenerys back away. “How can I, if I love you, if I want to free you <em>from all this death</em>, if I want you to choose life?!”</p><p>
  <em>What?</em>
</p><p>“My darling…” Jorah whispered, the words of endearment a confession in themselves, “go to Daario Naharis! I was wrong about him. Of course, I was! Because I was <em>never </em>going to accept any man, was I? No one was ever going to be good enough for you, <em>my Love</em>.”</p><p>And the way he said those two words, his voice breaking on the whispering of them.</p><p>“No one!” he insisted. “But you have chosen him, have you not? Daenerys Targaryen would never be one to fall for a man who’ll promise her the moon and end up by taking everything she has to give. Am I wrong?”</p><p>She couldn’t answer that. She was <em>not</em> going to.</p><p>“Give… me… back… my memories!” Daenerys whispered with such intensity.</p><p>“If I do, I’ll have to lea—”</p><p>She didn’t let him finish. “Jorah, please…” And then, gliding so very close to him, she whispered his name again. And he was lost. Just like the first time she looked at him.</p><p>Jorah raised his hand once more to Daenerys’ visage but, this time, he cupped her cheek, actually touching her… and she inhaled sharply! Beyond the fear, beyond the thrill of knowing he was breaking his own rule, it was the sheer physicality of the experience that jarred her—his otherworldly touch meeting her own, the Valyrian in her! It shook Daenerys to the core. So violently in fact, Jorah had to grab her waist to stop her from keeling over, his arm pulling her in an embrace he knew too well, and which she was discovering anew—her body so <em>perfectly</em> moulding itself to his.</p><p>And it all came back to her! The Christmas Eve confession by the fireplace, the amorous trysts of almost-touches, their first embrace in the fog, and their lovemaking, their single night of passion, so beautiful, so raw, so fiery! The images rushing back to her mind slipped to her flesh and she raised herself on tiptoe, grabbing Jorah by the neck, her fingers losing themselves into his curls—not the ghostly ones, not the ones from her dreams, but the silky ones of his manly form. And it was bliss and it was hell.</p><p>“How could you? How could you do this to me?” she breathed next to Jorah before kissing him. Her lips taking his, Daenerys felt the wind rise and her body being crushed to her Love.</p><p><em>Khaleesi… </em>Her Captain was hoisting her into his arms and making blossoms twirl around them in a tempest both beautiful and frightening.</p><p>“How could you?” Daenerys repeated, breaking their kiss but lunging for more, again and again, the tender flesh of her mouth bruising on Jorah’s gruff. “I should hate you…”</p><p>“You should!” Jorah rasped, biting even more into his Lady’s kiss.</p><p>“I should push you away!”</p><p>“Do! Do, my darling, banish me yourself!” Jorah rasped again, in answer<em>…</em>Words he meant while his arms kept holding on tighter to Daenerys.</p><p><em>Oh Jorah! He had hurt her, betrayed her even</em>—<em>he was fallible… </em>And it only made him more alive than ever in Daenerys’ eyes.<em> Therefore, it made him hers. </em>Because she would teach him to let go, to lay down his arms and be gentle towards himself, and to just, <em>just</em> relinquish to happiness.</p><p>“You will do my bidding this night, then?” Daenerys whispered, her hands finding their way inside Jorah’s shirt, to feel the expanse of his chest and his heart beating there for her. Under her hand. Because she willed it so.</p><p>There was a conqueror’s smile in her voice but her Captain failed to hear it, so sure he had hurt her beyond repair. What he had done was indeed unforgivable but if she was finding room in her heart for one more kiss, one more night, he would not squander it. He would honour it. It was more, it was… so much more than he deserved.</p><p>“You know I will! I will, Khaleesi!” Jorah heaved, his hands cupping Daenerys’ beautiful face as the wind and blossoms still rushed about them. She was his enchantress, his <em>Belle Dame sans merci</em>, and he would bow to her.</p><p>“Then quiet the whirlwind, Captain, and lay me on your bed of petals…”</p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>They were both naked when Jorah gently rested Daenerys on a carpet of clove and blossoms. If this was to be their last night together, he would make it last, he would make it the most wondrous, and the most magical.</p><p>And though Daenerys could now remember everything of their past intimacy—every word, every sigh, every rumble and growl, and every thrust of passion—she was quivering in the arms of her golden Captain. His embrace felt like their first, and it was so real, suddenly, in the fragrant here and now of their Garden of Eden! The veil shrouding her recent days had been lifted, and everything suddenly made sense because his kiss, <em>his kiss</em>… His kiss bore no resemblance to Daario’s kisses. <em>This</em> was what a kiss should feel like!</p><p>There was nothing mundane about the way Jorah took her lips and let her take his; it was… like breathing for the first time. It was the source of life itself and she couldn’t get enough! Daenerys felt like a maiden discovering love <em>and</em> like a Queen; a monarch requesting her one and only Knight to love her this night and every night! And she couldn’t wait; she wanted it all, she wanted him—Jorah! But every time her lips burned, and tried to bite and suck, Jorah quenched them with the softest of kisses, in the midst of his mighty arms, to slow her ardour. Slow everything down! Heartbeats and whimpers—Time itself, truly! To draw out the pleasure to come and pray dawn never came.</p><p><em>Khaleesi, </em>Jorah whispered, looking deep in Daenerys’ eyes and brushing his thumb over the lusciousness of her lips, before bending to lick their plumpness. Oh! He was making her breath and kiss melt in his mouth as they embraced, amidst flowers on the softest of grass—Nature’s fragrance mixing with the incense of their arousal. The heady perfume of their lovemaking was intoxicating Jorah as his arms kept his Lady close to him; the fur on his chest tickling her breasts and his manhood, inescapable, calling to her as it nestled between them at every turn. Daenerys felt its warmth pressing on her thigh; she felt it finding the cleft of her rump; she felt it kneading her belly. She wanted to touch it; she wanted it fast, in the secret of her; she wanted it between her lips, her tongue twirling its crown; she… But again, Jorah would have none of her precipitous hunger. This would not be an earthy embrace; it would be Elysium!</p><p>How did he do this, Daenerys wondered, feeling herself become all woolly under his kisses. Jorah’s caresses were so fluid… She felt like he had her swimming in the softest of waters. An undine twirling in whirlpools commanded by Neptune! And how wonderful to feel herself his most cherished treasure, his pearl of pearls. Daenerys could feel the whole of Jorah’s mighty bulk, the hard but gentle muscled mass of him enveloping her, so softly, as if she was the most fragile of treasures… but most of all his lips and gruff, lavishing the opalescence of her skin with their warmth: on her gracile neck, while his fingers carded her hair; on the underswell of her breasts, before a swipe of the tongue came to whip their tips; on the gentle curve of her hip bone, while his fingers explored her honeyed folds. And at every turn, his voice, so deep, so amorous, whispering passion while he held her close. Even when he kissed the dimples in the slope of her backside, while his manhood teased her.  Oh! It made her curb her back, her fingernails digging into the grass while her rump searched for the Beast which could take her. Daenerys needed so to alleviate the ache she felt—she needed him! She wanted to be ravished, she was craving it, craving <em>him</em>! She wanted to feel one with Jorah. She was already cresting and hurting from the anticipation! But no, no, there would be no hurried mating. She had to relinquish.</p><p>Once more facing Jorah, Daenerys began to float, her fingertips brushing the grass next to her, as her Captain’s kisses trailed down her body. She whispered Jorah’s name in awe as she felt her sex pound slowly on his lips, rhythmically, and on every beat, lavish new sap, honeyed and fragrant.</p><p>“Oh! Oh yes, my Lady…” Jorah’s velvety voice kept rewarding her, while sirup teared from her rosy lips upon his fingers and tongue, next to the apple blossoms their embrace was crushing. And with every new delicate surge this feeling of cresting, under her Captain’s amorous care. How delicious!</p><p>“You can let go, my Love. There will be more; I will give you more! Daenerys…” Jorah’s voice quivered with desire, “… bequeath me your pleasure!”</p><p>How could she resist him? How could she, when he promised her more, and more, and more?</p><p>“Yes, that’s right,” he whispered again, roguishly, “on my kiss…”</p><p>And she did bequeath and bow and let go, her fingers slipping in Jorah’s curls to rock herself tenderly on his mouth and gruff, riding beautiful waves, looking at him servicing her, feeling cherished. She swayed towards his lips, towards his tongue, sighing her acquiescence, her fingers still playing with his wavy hair until, looking at her Captain feasting on her, Daenerys felt herself fountain waves of pleasure, so mighty and sparkling under the moonlight, each one bringing her closer to the stars until the last one broke to let her go up into the sky… while Jorah made blossoms shower on them.</p><p>In that moment, the Captain dared any man to make Daenerys feel this way one day.</p><p>He would set her free but let it be known he brought her pleasure in a manner befitting the Goddess that she was. His Queen, his Love, his all!</p><p>Daenerys never looked more beautiful to Jorah than when she took flight, even if it was away from him. And it had to be, away from him. He would watch her go and he would vanish, cutting the last tether keeping her from the real world and her destiny. He would, he swore he would… knowing dawn was hours and hours away, and he had yet to fulfil his Lady’s every desire and imprint the memory of her on his soul.</p><p>“Jorah…” Daenerys was whispering, still reeling from pleasure.</p><p>How so very handsome her Captain looked to her, as she tried to find her breath again. He was glorious in his naked form inside their secret garden: the edge of his cheekbones, the fur running down the full length of him, and the definition of his muscles, rippling and contracting for her while his blue, blue eyes lit the night. Jorah was the most awe-inspiring of faery creatures. His flesh was becoming braille to Daenerys and his wavering breath, upon her caress, the most beautiful of chamber music.</p><p>“Khaleesi,” Jorah whispered so very low, “I never thought… I never dared dream I would ever hold you or feel your touch again.”</p><p>Daenerys sighed hearing him and tracing him, while gazing into his mesmerizing eyes, and her fingernails dug inside the bulk of him when he took her lips again, for a deep, deep kiss making her sex surge and look for his. But it was her hand that found him first and, this time, Jorah did not stop her. He smiled in her eyes as she rose to sit with him on the grass, and he swallowed a moan, as she took hold of him, to pleasure herself by touching him most immodestly. He let Daenerys see him breathe through clenched teeth, for her to know how so very much her touch enflamed him; how he desired her, and the power she held over him.</p><p>“This is what you do to me, my love,” he rasped, covering her hand to make her feel the blood rushing to his manhood in waves.</p><p>“I love it,” she whispered lovingly, kissing his temple lightly and then the cut of his cheek and then his lips, “Do you?”</p><p>“Yes, <em>yessss</em>…” Jorah susurrated in confession, closing his eyes. He was the one now digging his free hand into the earth to ground himself. He was surrendering to mounting pleasure—and what a sight he was then, to Daenerys—his longing for her so unmistakable. He was letting her push him down towards the grass, his strong body shaking slightly, his muscles giving slowly from under him until only his elbows kept him upright while Daenerys was slowly towering over him. It made her whisper Jorah’s name anew to feel herself overpower him. It made her kiss him more roughly too, until her breath caught on the first tears of his own arousal, the syrupy drops flowing slowly over her fingers. They both looked at the offering, Jorah moving slowly inside his Lady’s care… and then, heaving, he saw her straddle his thighs, leaving his manhood offered. She was a priestess, a goddess, a Valkyrie commanding his tense body to relinquish. Surely to ride him like a mighty dragon! Oh! Daenerys was replaying their tryst from the train but this time, this time, caressing him fully, with her dainty hand, and sighing upon discovering just how <em>so very much </em>he desired her. She couldn’t help it then; she had to. She simply did. And Jorah tensed when he divined his Khaleesi’s plan.</p><p>“My love, please, no, I won’t be able…” She dived to his manhood. “I won’t be able to—”</p><p>The word <em>last </em>disappeared in Jorah’s deep-set moan and no other left his lips as he succumbed to the wet softness of his Lady’s mouth, the languorous twirling of her tongue and the plumpness of her lips, gliding and sucking him gently.</p><p>
  <em>Please, Gods, no… and yes.</em>
</p><p>But Daenerys knew. She knew when to stop. Just as she felt a tightening in her Captain’s core and his hips begin to sway of their own volition. She let go of him then, smiling coyly on his shaky breath, until she nursed his agony by bringing him to her folds.</p><p>“Am I silky enough for you, Captain?” she susurrated, making Jorah jolt from her brazen question. Oh! she was, <em>by all the Gods,</em> she was… Her honeyed, dewy folds: <em>How he had dreamt of nesting there again!</em> Feeling his crown glide between her secret lips, as he saw them parting for him, Jorah growled to keep himself from erupting in his Goddess’ hand.</p><p>How regal she looked, taking him this way. Letting him know she wanted him <em>whole</em> as she mounted his body. She wanted the shock of it, her flesh too <em>petite</em> for him and yet warm and wet and beckoning.</p><p>Of course, she faltered—for one second—her breath catching in her throat, because she had misjudged; she had forgotten; she had—oh! The pain and ecstasy flashing in her eyes, simply upon feeling the <em>beginning</em> of the whole of him—and then discovering that she could sheath him, if she took her time, smiling to her Love. Very slowly, very fluidly. Up and down and yet, not fully, to see him quiver from desire, from under her, like a beautiful beast. Oh! She would get him to abdicate.</p><p><em>Khaleesi</em>, she heard Jorah whisper low, over and over again.</p><p>Until, suddenly, he lifted himself to her, thrusting up—because he could no longer resist!</p><p>How velvety Daenerys’ laughter then, rumbling in her throat, as Jorah caught her body while guiding her dance over his risen flesh. How she locked eyes with him, biting her lip and sighing with pleasure as he made her glide, more fully now, on that which she had coveted. All the while swallowing whimpers because he was so… he was so… It drove Jorah mad with worry, mad with desire. Until she moored at the very base of him, making him growl, low, so low… and she <em>felt him</em>, whole, and hard, and formidable in the crux of her, as she swivelled her hips. She took him like this, wantonly, and soon a bit faster, to make their flesh sing and her Captain moan. Oh! The sight of him almost losing control!</p><p>Daenerys welcomed Jorah’s hands on her hips, digging into her flesh, as she took him, over and over again, swallowing his length. Looking at her Captain surrender to pleasure truly galvanized her! Triumphantly, Daenerys set the course for Jorah’s undoing… and then, just as she thought she would triumph, her own flesh betrayed her, without warning. She cried out, shattering, making her Captain smile in turn.</p><p>“How very greedy, how very <em>gourmande,</em> you are, my love,” Jorah whispered in Daenerys’ ear, as he slowed his thrusts to taste the last of her pleasure. Oh! Had he known all along that she would climax like this? He could be so infuriating! And how she loved him for it… even when he dared murmur on her lips: “Do you wish for more?”</p><p><em>Jorah! I can’t,</em> she laughed.</p><p>
  <em>Oh! but you can, my Love. I’ll make you tumble and soar, and soar again, all night…</em>
</p><p>On these words, Jorah dived to Daenerys’ beautiful breasts to make them quiver. His mouth latching onto them, he made her moan languorously while his hand cradled the beautiful orb of her flesh, hardening… in answer to his own.</p><p>Jorah knew Daenerys loved this, his worshipping of her bosom. How she heaved and tensed inside his arms when his kisses wet the fabric of her nightgown, those nights when they could only love each other from a breath away; when they thought the Gods only allowed them to “almost-touch.” How strangely arousing her suffering through the tease and his resisting the urge to heed her pleas of casting the veils aside to just… please… lick her flesh. He remembered his teeth’s straining against the fabric keeping him from tenderly latching on to the rosebuds of her breasts, the friction arousing her… and him. But how much more divine it was to finally feast on her, with nothing dividing them at last! He could make her whimper with a flick of his tongue over the perkiness of her skin, and whisper sweet nothings or hungrier confessions in her ear, while his thumb brushed the most sensitive parts of her body. He could send lightning through his Love!</p><p>Oh! Such a dangerous course of action if the goal was to make their loving last! But Jorah risked it. Freeing himself from her flesh—hushing her mourning pleas—he splurged on Daenerys, making her writhe next to him, as he once more gently wrestled his way over her while she reached out to caress him still. How she sighed, and then moaned feeling Jorah’s <em>edging</em> towards satiation gift her more pearls of pleasure. For every new one she twirled around his crown, he twirled his tongue ‘round the tips of her breasts, the echoed wetness making them both wanton. But when Daenerys dared caress him in earnest, Jorah’s bit delicately into Daenerys. She gasped, laughter rolling deep in her throat, and she arched her back, offering herself completely to Jorah’s dangerous kisses while never ceasing her ministrations. His tongue and teeth took full advantage of her abandon—an opalescent goddess on a bed of fragrant green—and his body did not protest when Daenerys brought him to her folds again.</p><p>Jorah was very gentle this time, as he sheathed himself in the tightness of his Love, looking into her eyes, before pulling back and letting his glance slip down to his manhood, to see it glide into her, after the most arousing of resistance at the portal of her secret flesh. He loved the sight of it, and Daenerys’ sighs even more. <em>How delicious you are, my Love,</em> he kept whispering as Daenerys followed his rhythm—whimpering when he’d retreat fully, holding her breath as he held his, his hardened flesh pressed and lingering at her gate, to make her feel how so very much he wanted back in… and then moaning as he glided back, on her plea, all the way in, his flesh invading hers, completely. How delirious!… and how beautiful Jorah’s jaw tightening, thought Daenerys—the muscles under his cheekbones clenching; the sight arousing her.</p><p>“Captain, are you suffering?” Daenerys breathed out, regally.</p><p>“Are you?” he rumbled, lifting her hips to bring his Lady to his amorous slaying, in one graceful, and imperious, movement!</p><p>Daenerys breath caught feeling Jorah overtake her—the full length and girth of him just espousing her form, so honeyed, so slick with lust, their flesh was singing again!</p><p><em>Gods, he was so… </em>Daenerys couldn’t swallow, she couldn’t breathe! Jorah was gently rocking her to him; he had her back sliding on the wet blossoms—she felt them, beneath her shoulder blades, while her hands tried to fist on the tender leaves of grass.</p><p>“Are you?” he repeated, amorously.</p><p>Oh! it made her hiccup a teasing naysaying, but Jorah smirked softly, his hips defying her pride again while his thumb swirled on the pearl she could not help but offer. And it came, the moan he was chasing, the confession he was looking to hear…</p><p>“Yes, yes, my Love,” Daenerys whispered, closing her legs around Jorah’s hips, “and you won’t free me, will you? I command it!”</p><p>Oh! Jorah abided! And therefore, he did not relent, not before seeing his Lady’s secret lips begin to flutter against his manhood, and hearing her voice break. He lowered himself to Daenerys’ ear then, and made every word ushered there an echo to the undertow of his movements within her.</p><p>“My darling, let go once more.”</p><p>“No, please, Jorah, if I do, it will end!” How short of breath Daenerys was suddenly, how beautiful!</p><p>“It won’t… it won’t… it won’t,” Jorah repeated, his voice so very husky, like an incantation on every mounting thrust. “I’ll give you more; the dawn is still so far away.”</p><p>And, oh! how so very tempting it was to obey. Daenerys had never felt invaded with such imperious desire.</p><p>“Gift yourself to me, Khaleesi. Let me feel you,” Jorah whispered. “—as I take you.” He thrust on these words, so intently, so deeply, a whimper left Daenerys’ lips, as if asking for more—which Jorah granted her, rumbling and growling low, so very low, until he dared, he dared whisper in his Lady’s ear: “Take your pleasure, madam,” Jorah rasped, clenching his teeth from too much desire, “right <em>now</em>, on my cock.”</p><p>And Daenerys did, come and shatter, so violently this time, upon Jorah’s brazen word, she glazed his manhood with the elixir of her pleasure. It made him moan in ecstasy, his arms closing possessively ‘round her forms.</p><p>“Daenerys… I love you!” <em>The Gods forgive me…</em> “I do…”</p><p>In Jorah’s embrace, Daenerys felt cherished and adored and desired, and shining like a new sun.</p><p>
  <em>Daario could never, ever have made her feel this way…</em>
</p><p>Love should not feel mundane and ordinary. It should sparkle, it should overwhelm! And that’s what Jorah gave her, and made her feel. And she wanted him to know! Oh! how she wanted him to know that she was choosing <em>him</em>! That there had never, <em>ever</em> been any contest!</p><p>“Jorah?…” Daenerys said, finding her voice after shattering.</p><p>“Yes, my Love…” Jorah answered, his voice, shaking deeply, and his mind, in sweet agony, while trying to keep pleasure at bay.</p><p>“Tomorrow…” she whispered.</p><p>“Tomorrow, my darling, is so far away, please….” <em>Please…</em> Jorah could not hear this. <em>The night could not end!</em> He was so very gentle now, furrowing in the secret of Daenerys and feeling the last of his Lady’s pleasure call to him.</p><p>“Jorah, I shall go to Glasgow, and—"</p><p>“And you will choose Life?” Jorah asked Daenerys, bravely but passionately, one of his hand sliding into her beautiful mane to lift her up to him while the other secured her waist to his sheathed form as he crouched up.</p><p><em>Gods! </em>she thought.<em> He was reaching so deep like this, it felt like a sword was piercing her heart.</em></p><p>“Yes, yes I will!” Daenerys heaved again, her folds overtaken by Jorah’s worship.</p><p>“But you’ll remember this moment? It’ll be ours, always!”</p><p>
  <em>Of course, it will, my Love!</em>
</p><p>Oh! how Jorah was burning as he rose into Daenerys, thrusting harder now, and drinking the sight of his Lady closing her eyes from the sensation… and then, while crushing her to him, his lips on her neck, and his hand closing into her wild tresses, “<em>My Love, my only Love…”</em></p><p>“I will Jorah; I’ll never forget…” his Lady pledged, finally. Jorah’s embrace was overwhelming all her senses now. She felt herself being lifted higher, her body completely upright and moulded to Jorah… who was kneeling as in prayer but with her chalice as his holy grail! His glance was burning hers as he branded her, as he took her, rasping words of love, so intense they were almost desperate. Oh! The way he lifted himself into her! Where their flesh met, it was molten lava. Fire and Ice joining!</p><p>“Khaleesi!… Do you feel me?… Gods… please… <em>feel</em> me…”</p><p>How—could—she not? Daenerys let herself moan that she did, as the wind rose again to make blossoms twirl ‘round their joined bodies. Her eyes never left Jorah’s, though her mind was reeling over the sensation of him reaching the glorious moment of his own release. Slipping her hands in Jorah’s curls, and holding onto him, she whispered then: “Now, <em>you</em>, give yourself to me, Captain…”</p><p>And Daenerys saw Jorah let go, his jaw clenching, his eyes dying of love and pooling into hers, his hips thrusting deep within her, one… last… time.</p><p><em>“Yes!” </em>he answered her, relinquishing.</p><p>Daenerys brought Jorah’s mouth to hers then, to taste his coming undone! How wondrous the live force of him within her and Jorah’s quivering all over, his lips moaning on hers. It made her feel like a Queen! The Queen she would have been in Valyria; the Queen she’d always be, in her Captain’s heart.</p><p>They heaved and heaved and drank the very breath they needed from each other’s lips, the wind fading slowly… until, magically, like the softest of gift, Jorah made it rain tenderly over the orchard!</p><p>Daenerys started lightly, and then laughed, her head thrown back in order to drink her Captain’s celestial gift. He let the rain wash over him too and then he kissed his Love again, making himself drunk on the aroma of her, baptised in blossom, rain and carnal dew. There were goosebumps running over Daenerys’s body and he knew he should bring her out of the downpour but he loved the feel of her cooling skin in the warmth of his arms. He would protect her… Oh! how he would have protected her until the end of Time had life not been the despot that she was! But… he needed to bow to her and release his Love.</p><p>“Jorah… I’m cold,” Daenerys whispered sweetly, in a mock-miserable tone, while relishing her Captain’s uncanny body warmth.</p><p>“I know,” Jorah answered in the same voice, while tightening his embrace. He was as wet as her now and even the embers of his faery flesh would dim soon.</p><p>“Shall we return to the Khalasar, Khaleesi?” he rumbled in his deepest velvet.</p><p>“Say that again?” Daenerys murmured, her eyes sparkling.</p><p>But Jorah only sighed amorously and, when he kissed his Lady again, they found each other under their canopied bed, together at last… wishing the dawn away.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Hell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Hell grips the heart of The Keep when Daenerys departs for Glasgow—on a mission—while, unbeknownst to her, Jorah is sure she is leaving their home to choose life... in the arms of another man.</p><p>Will Providence intercede for the Lovers when all seems lost?</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you to Chryssadirewolf for the use of her beautiful hommage to <i>The Ghost and Mrs Muir</i>, casting Iain Glen in the role of the captain. You'll see it integrated in the first moodboard at the close of the chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <strong>THE KEEP - CHAPTER 14  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p>“Say it again?” Daenerys was still pleading sweetly.</p><p>And Jorah obeyed: “Shall we return to the Khalasar, Khaleesi?” he repeated while holding Daenerys tenderly, their forms vanishing from their Garden of Eden.</p><p>His Lady was purring. And he, sighing amorously, before kissing her again, ensconced in the very heart of their Kingdom: the soft and woolly warmth of their expansive bed where they belonged. Together.</p><p>Yet, Jorah was still plagued by an overwhelming sense of duty, barely covering a deeper wound. One he could not bring himself to name. <em>Not now, not yet.</em> One his ghostly state only exacerbated. Therefore, he found himself back to where he had brought Daenerys before. To hold her before trying to free her. Because surely death would engulf her if they persisted, did she not realise this? And he could not see her wither her life away. Oh! This was roundabout torture.</p><p>Still, the Captain was looking into his Queen’s eyes, with so much love, lulling her to sleep. Not to rob her of her memories in the hopes to keep her. No. He should never have committed that crime of <em>lèse-majesté</em>. This time, he would simply banish the whole of him, from his Queen’s presence, for her to live. <em>There was no other way.</em></p><p>“Daenerys,” Jorah whispered, folding his Lady into his arms, her flesh completing his, under the plush covers, “I love you so completely, so profoundly… will you remember? Will you take this with you, when you wake and leave?”</p><p><em>Oh Jorah! </em>He was so… melodramatic. <em>She was only going to Glasgow and coming right back!</em> Daenerys told herself, unawares. Jorah was excess incarnate sometimes, and how she loved him for it. Therefore, she could only sigh, without chiding, before reassuring him or, at the very least, trying to.</p><p>“Only if <em>you</em> keep me with you, and don’t let me go until the morn’… You have not been dismissed. I need you by my side,” Daenerys said, almost jesting, with tears of happiness brightening her eyes.</p><p>Jorah could not utter a word; any more words would make their parting all too real, and he didn’t belong to that realm. Reality. Where Daenerys would shine! But for now, he would close his arms around his Lady, and keep her near, and keep her warm. He would cradle her to sleep and he would watch over her.</p><p>There was sadness now in Jorah’s eyes, Daenerys could see it. There always came a moment when her Captain could not keep this feeling at bay. It was his ghostly nature, surely. His curse. If only she could make him believe it was of no importance to her that he was no longer mortal! After all, was she herself? A mere mortal? Not if she truly had the blood of dragons in her, she let herself imagine. And, then, more seriously, more amorously: if Jorah could only see himself the way she saw him…</p><p>“I love you, Jorah Mormont… Close your eyes, and sleep with me.”</p><p>And he let Daenerys kiss him, to stop the tears he felt like shedding from shaming him.</p><p>When their lips parted, she smiled again, slowly, softly. There was so much love in her eyes, Jorah almost let go of his resolve to free his Lady from him. She took his arm and, turning on herself, she brought his tall frame to her petite form, for him to spoon her, tenderly.</p><p>Feeling Daenerys melt into his arms, and his body enfold the silkiness of hers—his Queen, so warm and trusting—Jorah couldn’t hold in a husky moan of wonderment, his breath caressing his Lady’s neck and making her whisper his name. His lips found her skin then and buried themselves in her mane. There was so much reverence in his touch, Time stopped, for just a moment, just long enough to gift him one lasting and imperishable memory of how perfect they were together. He felt Daenerys’ hand bringing his to her lips, to kiss it before laying it next to her bosom, her fingers intertwining with his. She was relinquishing, her body letting go, and trusting him to keep her safe in slumber; to keep her always.</p><p><em>Oh my Love, my Love</em>… Jorah thought, closing his eyes.</p><p>This, <em>this</em> could have been his, could have been theirs, every night… had he been a real, live man. He was trying to keep guilt at bay, the guilt and shame of having loved his Lady when he knew, <em>he knew</em> he meant all along to vanish—to free her, yes, but to free himself too from having to witness her finding happiness with another man.</p><p>“I love you, Jorah Mormont,” she repeated and, wincing in pain, Jorah tightened his embrace, closing his eyes as in prayer.</p><p>“I love you more, Khaleesi,” he sighed.</p><p>Entangled, they fell asleep, sinking together in sweet, slow, slumber…</p><p><em>Ample make this bed.</em> <em><br/>Make this bed with awe;<br/>In it wait till judgment break<br/>Excellent and fair.</em></p><p>The words of the poet Emily Dickinson echoed through their night.</p><p>Jorah slept, and he had not slept in so, so very long. How wondrous! If only the night could have lasted forever, for him to pretend a ghost could let a Queen love him… but, in the end, he could not hold the dawn from breaking.</p><p>When he woke, the ink of the sky was turning back to light indigo. Oh! dear Gods, there was just a few seconds left to whisper his <em>adieu</em> without fear of waking Daenerys. It would not do seeing her violet eyes plead him not to leave. In Jorah’s mind, desperate words of love tripped over themselves until, at last, he was able to murmur his second and last banishment, his curtain call before kissing her tenderly, before cursing himself away like the Flying Dutchman.</p><p>He vanished from Daenerys’ arms noiselessly, finding himself translucent in the rising sunrays pooling through their bow window. There, the Captain paused, one hand on the handle to the glass door and, turning his eyes to his Sleeping Beauty, so perfect in their bed, he looked at her with longing.</p><p>
  <em>He was mad to leave her!</em>
</p><p>Wasn't he?</p><p>She loved him. She <em>loved</em> him.</p><p>Maybe... maybe he could let go of the door handle, and walk back softly towards the bed. She would not wake if he very slowly found his way back between the sheets. And the silky warmth of her. Smelling of roses and incense and love. He would sink once more next to her and just... just love her.</p><p>
  <em>Damn his soul! Damn his soul to hell!</em>
</p><p>Jorah's knuckles turned white on the door's handle. He almost let go. He almost chose happiness. But then, his eyes lifted once more to his sleeping Love and, misting over, he felt himself... free her <em>from all this death</em>. </p><p>“How you’d have loved the North Cape," he declared, rising to his full height and keeping at bay the tremors in his voice, "How you'd have loved the fjords and the midnight sun. To sail across the reef at Barbados, where the blue water turns to green… To the Falklands where a southerly gale rips the whole sea white…What we’ve missed, Khaleesi. What we’ve both missed. Goodbye, my darling…”</p><p><em>I love you, </em>he concluded, his voice breaking.</p><p><em>I’ll always love you, </em>whispered the wind after Jorah, closing the glass door behind his vanishing form.</p><p> </p><p>********</p><p> </p><p>It was the rain that woke Daenerys.</p><p>She blinked and smiled softly; Jorah had forgotten to make it stop, maybe. It smelled so good, though, the soft breeze coming from the side window. Green and fresh and so replenished. Like she.</p><p>Oh! She felt wonderful! She had been loved and had loved in return. She blushed and felt her body jolt deliciously at the remembrance of her shattering inside her Captain’s embrace. Her arm reached across their immense bed, so sure she’d find the bulk of the man she adored. Not the ghost. Jorah was not a chimaera to her; he did not belong to the netherworld. He was alive, as searing as her most brazen thoughts, as full of passion and mirth and vibrancy as all the words they wrote together. But when she turned to where her arm reached over her eiderdown, her hand only brushed emptiness.</p><p>And it was like a feather slowly falling... the shadow of dread that skirted Daenerys’ soul at that moment.</p><p>But she brushed the sensation away. She had so much to do and she was too happy—she jumped out of bed!</p><p>The sky was grey and it was indeed raining, more formidably than the light mist that would have been enough to quench the roses, but Daenerys paid it no heed. She dressed quickly and ran down the staircase to rejoin Gilly whom she could hear downstairs.</p><p>Yet, when she erupted into the kitchen, all cheery, her smile vanished because there was Gilly grabbing her lower back, and wincing, as she stood over the oven.</p><p>“Gilly?”</p><p>Daenerys rushed to her friend who breathed out through the pain, holding her swollen belly.</p><p>“Daenerys, it’s nothing, please!”</p><p>“Oh Gilly! Didn’t I tell you to, to—? Are you alright?”</p><p>“Oh please, don’t!” Gilly said, grimacing but standing straight, and then, snapping at Daenerys fretting over her: “Stop!… Really, I’m fine.”</p><p>“Are you sure? Please sit down, Gilly…”</p><p>But Gilly sighed and looked at her friend, deadpan… making Daenerys raise her hands as if to say fine, <em>fine</em>!</p><p>“I will pretend you did not laze in bed, Daenerys Targaryen, and bid you to please read the telegram you’ve just received… from your editor!”</p><p>Oh! the words had not left Gilly’s mouth that Daenerys was ripping the missive out of her friend’s hand.</p><p>“Listen to this, Gilly! It’s from Mr Sproule!” she explained while inciting her friend to sit down to rest. Gilly, of course, was rolling her eyes. She was fine <em>and</em> she had read the telegram. “It’s about your new book,” she said out loud and then, reciting from memory, she added: “Your check for advance royalties is awaiting you in Whitecliff Bank—<em>stop</em>—as you requested—<em>stop</em>.”</p><p>But then, curious, Gilly leaned towards Daenerys. “How much though?” she inquired, always the one down to Earth. “I hope they paid you good money for your Queen-in-disguise and the Pirate’s yarn.”</p><p>“Gilly, have you been reading my book?”</p><p>“I’m supposed to dust in there… and what falls under <em>me</em> eye falls under <em>me</em> eye.”</p><p>“I’m surprised at you. It’s like eavesdropping.”</p><p>“Well, I’m surprised at <em>you</em>. Such language!” and she bent down to whisper in Daenerys’ ear, words she could not let herself speak out loud. Making Daenerys smirk.</p><p>“Well, Gilly, if you’re writing about a pirate, you’re not describing a vicar’s life.”</p><p>“He’d have a hard time living up to your idea of him.”</p><p>“Oh, don’t be so sure,” Daenerys concluded with a Gioconda smile before reading the rest of the telegram.</p><p>“Mister Sproule wants me to come to his office to sign a few copies of the second edition to Jorah’s biography!”</p><p>“Oh, we’re calling him <em>Jorah</em>, now, are we…” Gilly noted, with a knowing smile, while going about her chores again. She could never rest for very long.</p><p>“I mean the Captain’s, of course!” Daenerys rectified, folding the telegram and trying not to blush.</p><p>“And will you be looking up that shark on two legs, <em>Mister</em> Naharis?” Gilly asked, trying to sound light, and failing miserably.</p><p>“Please remember he did ask me to marry him—” and indeed Gilly had grumbled enough at the time.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am,” Gilly interrupted sombrely, putting away the teacups. But when she felt Daenerys’ hand on her arm, she found the courage to gaze into her friend’s soft violet eyes.</p><p>“Silly girl,” Daenerys whispered sweetly, “I am planning to look up Mr Naharis to tell him my answer is nay…”</p><p>“Ohhhh!” exclaimed Gilly… quite unable to hide tears of joy and, grabbing Daenerys, she made her start. “I’m so relieved! Oh Daenerys! Oh dear Gods!…”</p><p>“Gilly!” Daenerys laughed, returning her friend’s hug while trying not to choke in her friend’s big mama bear embrace.</p><p>“He wasn’t the man for you, Your Grace! Oh! I’m so relieved!”</p><p>“There, there, darling, sit down, my goodness…”</p><p>“Yes, I’m sorry, it’s <em>me</em> state,” Gilly said, drying her tears, embarrassed. “I dare say Samwell is glad I spend a bit of time away from him because, <em>woof</em>, I’m not exactly an oily stretch of sea these days!”</p><p>Gilly and her slightly askew maritime lingo! Daenerys laughed again.</p><p>And, looking at her mistress, Gilly realised there was a special glow about her this morning. Oh! She was finding her spirit back!</p><p>“Speaking of Sam,” Daenerys interjected, “do you think he could get me to the pier? And I think you should go straight home with him, Gilly. No sense in working here while I’m gone; it’ll just worry me thinking of you all alone at the Keep. Your time is near, isn’t it?”</p><p>Gilly just nodded, smiling to her friend.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>“He’s here!” Gilly called from the veranda.</p><p>“Coming!” Daenerys answered, putting on her long raincoat. It was truly raining hard and realising it fully, she wondered about Jorah’s choice of weather. Surely the garden did not need this deluge. He was always so considerate to make it drizzle at dawn and again just as she was about to close her eyes at night, to serenade her to sleep. But today, it was like the enchantment of the Keep had ruptured and all the foul weather which had been kept at bay was coming back with a vengeance.</p><p>“Hurry, you’ll miss the ferry!”</p><p>“Yes, yes!” Daenerys called out again, rushing outside to close the Keep behind her, as Gilly was almost to Samwell’s motor car. And she too, ran to it, holding on to her umbrella in the wind and downpour… failing to notice that all her violet roses had turned a dark shade of red. A bleeding shade of heartache.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p>
  
</p><p>“Will that be all, Mister Sproule?”</p><p>“Except to give you copies of the glowing reviews which your book received!”</p><p>“Don’t you mean glowering, sir?” Daenerys smirked.</p><p>“Well, there are those, yes. Pissy, prudish and sourpuss!” he laughed, “but take a look at the private letters I received, pleading for me to forward them to you. There are a few gentlemen who, dare I say, would steal you away from your Captain. But rest assured, my dear, I am here to protect your virtue!” Sproule exclaimed with theatrical flourish, making Daenerys smile.</p><p>“Still,” he whispered, leaning closer, “I think you’ll enjoy reading their <em>billets doux</em>…” and he slipped them in Daenerys’ satchel. “So!” he resumed, back to his boisterous self: “You are a literary success and I congratulate us! I mean you! And the captain, of course.”</p><p>“Of course, the captain too,” agreed Daenerys.</p><p>“And I intend to hold you to your promise to introduce us.”</p><p>“Oh, yes, I did promise, didn’t I? Maybe… maybe I’ll be able to arrange something on a full moon evening,” Daenerys let escape.</p><p>“A full moon evening, my dear? What is he, a werewolf?” Mister Sproule laughed.</p><p>Daenerys bit her lip—she had said too much—but she found her footing again. “Let’s just say, he’s less elusive then and easier to get a hold of!”</p><p>Sproule gave her a look that clearly said he thought writers impossibly eccentric. Yet, he smiled and accompanied his bestselling authoress to his office door.</p><p>In the lobby, Daenerys approached the reception desk while putting on her gloves, and addressed the clerk.</p><p>“Would you please give me Mr Naharis’s address?”</p><p>“Daario Naharis?”</p><p>“Yes, please. It won’t be a bother to you, will it? Since you so conveniently provided him with mine,” she told him with a Cheshire cat smile.</p><p>Blushing and fumbling, the clerk—who had indeed accepted a bribe from Daario—quickly wrote the required address on a piece of paper.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Walking up the chic residential street on which Daario lived, Daenerys was slightly surprised. Though he was adamant about his being wealthy, she somehow expected him to live above some private men’s club, in a bachelor pad only made for trysts and changing suitcases between voyages.</p><p>She checked the address twice before ringing the stately Regency townhouse in front of her. Its white stones were enlivened with deep purple doors and window frames, under which greenery overflowed from plant hangers.</p><p>Daenerys was even more surprised when a parlour maid answered the door.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am?”</p><p>“I’d like to see Mister Naharis, please,” Daenerys said, almost expecting to be told she had the wrong house.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am. What name, please?”</p><p>“Oh!… It’s Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>“Yes, ma’am. Will you wait in there, please?”</p><p>In somewhat of a daze, Daenerys entered the house and was let into a gorgeous living room! Perfectly chic and elegant, with no trace of showy dandyism or garish adventurer trinkets. It was like Daario had erased himself completely from the decor of his home. Maybe a designer had imposed his own sense of taste in his residence? She could very well imagine it, Daario rarely spending time in Glasgow, but then, why the parlour maid?</p><p>The answer seemed to suddenly float before her eyes. There was a painting over the mantlepiece. A woman’s portrait… in blueish tones… and cubist style. It was unmistakably Daario’s brushstroke but the lady was assuredly not her.</p><p>“Ms Targaryen?” a lovely female voice called from behind Daenerys, startling her as she swung ‘round. “The maid said you wanted to see my husband…”</p><p><em>Husband.</em> Daenerys tripped on the word and she blinked on the patrician beauty standing before her.</p><p>“… Perhaps I can help you?” the lady of the house asked, in a genuinely caring manner.</p><p>“Mrs Naharis…” Daenerys breathed out, still somewhat in shock.</p><p>“Or, if you don’t mind waiting? He should be back soon. He’s taking the children to the park. I’ve had them abroad for the past few months; we just returned. Daario is making up for lost time,” she explained, smiling, her words just a bit rushed.</p><p>She too was eyeing Daenerys, with curiosity.</p><p>“Please sit down.” Daario’s wife was insisting. “If you’re a friend of his, you know how fond he is of the children. You <em>are</em> a friend of his, aren’t you?”</p><p>“I—I’m a writer.” Daenerys managed to say. She had come to break off her engagement with Daario; not have tea with his wife. “We, uh… Your husband and I have the same publisher.”</p><p>“How exciting. I don’t often meet one of Daario’s literary friends. You’ll wait for him, won’t you? I expect him back any minute, and we’ll have tea.”</p><p>
  <em>There it was: tea.</em>
</p><p>“No, I… I’ll go. I’m afraid I would only embarrass him.”</p><p>There was a lull between the two women.</p><p>There was no jealousy in the look they exchanged, just… just lucid acknowledgement, and a bewildering sense of empathy.</p><p>“I think I understand, my dear…” Daario’s wife said. “And I’m sorry. Truly I am. You see, it isn’t the first time something like this has happened, Ms Targaryen.”</p><p>
  <em>Of course not. Oh! The rake!</em>
</p><p>“I believe I understand how it wouldn’t be, Mrs Naharis.”</p><p>Daenerys smiled sadly into the woman’s eyes, seeing how, regardless of the brave front she was putting up, the corners of her lips were trying very hard not to twist into a painful grimace. Daenerys could only be compassionate when she spoke again.</p><p>“I also believe no one as noble and gracious as you should have to endure such outrages. We all deserve to be loved, and possibly, you, Mrs Naharis, a smidge more than some.”</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys stepped outside, after parting in a painfully hushed manner from her hostess, she took a deep breath and shook her head. What folly she came close to commit! Lost in thought for a moment, she veered on the curb of the sidewalk, not seeing ahead, and two young children almost collided with her as they chased each other! She yelped and then smiled, seeing them run off, before coming face to face with their father: Daario.</p><p>It should be said that he was the most surprised of the two, and the one suddenly looking pale.</p><p>“Dany…” he whispered, like a lost man. And then, finding his wits, he took Daenerys’ elbow to urge her away from the throng. He was about to speak again, surely looking for honeyed words his paramour could succumb to. But <em>she </em>spoke first.</p><p>“You must think yourself a magician, Daario Naharis. Using sleight of hands to shuffle between hearts—”</p><p>“It’s not what you think,” he tried to explain, whispering to not alert the few passers.</p><p>“Oh, I beg to differ. I think I have you pegged,” Daenerys smirked sadly. “You, my dear, are in love with love. And to think I had to choose between a dream and you. You who are, in the end, the very embodiment of illusion.”</p><p>“Dany please, believe me. I tried, for you. You made me want to become a better man, you did! I love you Dany!”</p><p>“Daenerys! My name is Daenerys, sir!” the dragon in Daenerys exclaimed between clenched teeth, “And to think you almost succeeded in making me think I was all wrong to consider my duty—”</p><p>“Your duty to whom?” Daario lashed out. “To whom, when I was offering you my heart?! To Sproule, your editor, that old fool?” he scoffed again, clearly upset.</p><p>“No, Daario,” Daenerys said, looking at him with something like pity, “my duty to myself.”</p><p>She departed then. On those words. Her gait was proud as she walked away, leaving Daario Naharis behind to ponder the rest of his story.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>Eager to get back home, to Jorah and their Keep, Daenerys opted for the night train aboard the Flying Scotsman. And with her publisher’s generous royalties check, she even splurged and acquired a private cabin, almost as luxurious as those on The Orient Express! She smiled when she was let in by a kind porter, and she bit her lip seeing the fine décor of her two-room cabin, made of shiny mahogany wood, and decorated with plush tartan armchairs and carpets, crystal decanters and lovely flowers too. Set in translucid vases, they were trembling from the soft vibrations of the train.</p><p>It was all magical to Daenerys in the soft light of the gas appliqués. The young man, very chic and proper with his bellhop cap, showed her around, opening the door to her hidden shower room with all its fineries: oh! a French milled soap for her fair skin, and heather-scented cologne! And then he led her to the sitting room, behind which throned a magnificent bed, as wide as the train compartment. There was something almost theatrical about it, very boudoir chic. It made her blush with delight!</p><p>Seeing the porter walk past her, she stopped him from prepping it. She’d take care of that…</p><p>Or maybe Jorah would appear and want to ravish her on top of the deep crimson bedcover, whispering in her ear she was his spoils of war and he meant to make her soar on the richest bales of silk, with her naked flesh covered in stolen jewels and gold.</p><p>In Daenerys’ mind’s eye, Jorah was always full of levity. There was nothing left, in him, of ghostly doldrums weighing him down.</p><p>“Are you writing our next novel, Captain?” Daenerys imagined herself asking, a giggle bubbling up upon her lover’s amorous assault.</p><p>“Mmm… most assuredly, my sweet,” she made Jorah answer her, with a devilish smirk, as his deft fingers were loosening her corsage.</p><p>She swore she could feel her Captain’s breath and fingers burning her flesh, her bosom heaving from her corset under his care and naughty words. When her opaline breasts popped free, the arousing sight shushed Jorah for a second, to give way to a deep, deep rumble.</p><p>“My precious…” he growled playfully.</p><p>“Jo-rah!” Daenerys laughed softly, until feeling Jorah’s gruff and kiss devour her! It made her whimper, and then open her thighs and sway in search of him. Yet, she still found a few words of repartee left in her.</p><p>“Though, you know we are not on a ship, but a train, my Love?”</p><p>“Oh yes, a train, and <em>I know</em> how much you like them,” Jorah whispered huskily, through a trail of kisses on her throat, ending on her lips which he took, famished. As famished as his hardened flesh, already finding its way to Daenerys’ honeyed folds. “How they pierce the night and thrust forward—” He stopped his description for a second, to savour the moment of his claiming and Daenerys’ breath catching in her throat while her lovely eyes closed.</p><p><em>Jorah</em>…, she sighed.</p><p>“Trains with their roaring furnaces and those handy whistles covering your moans…”</p><p><em>Jorah,</em> she cried, feeling him conquer her flesh, with panache and vigour, in the very creaminess of her! She loved it so when—</p><p>“Miss? Will that be all?” asked the young porter, his barely post-pubescent voice squeaking from seeing the rapture on Daenerys’ face… as she was still glancing towards the bed.</p><p>“Oh! Oh yes, I’m sorry, I was distracted…” she stammered, chiding herself.</p><p>“You won’t require my services then?”</p><p>
  <em>Oh dear Lords.</em>
</p><p>“No! No, thank you! Everything is just perfect…” Daenerys spurted out, making sure to tip the young man handsomely while shooing him out. She only breathed again when, bolting the door to her cabin, she reclined on it, moaning from embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>It wasn’t easy preparing for bed in her tiny bathroom—without a bath—but the water from the copper and porcelain shower had been scalding hot, the way Daenerys liked it. Presently, she was smiling to herself in the mirror, putting the finishing touch to her hair, faux-dishevelling them, so they fell in lustrous waves over her black lacey nightgown. She meant to appear sultry to her dashing Captain!</p><p>In fact, Daenerys was so certain he’d be there, waiting for her in their sitting room, that she came sweeping out with playful words on her lips. But she had to stop in her tracks and then fall silent, when she realised Jorah was <em>not </em>there.</p><p>
  <em>Oh…</em>
</p><p>Had she been wrong to expect him to show up, the way he had the first time? Maybe he’d come later or… or maybe he thought she’d take the morning train?</p><p>No, Jorah always knew where she was. Therefore, he’d come and surprise her! <em>In bed,</em> she told herself, smiling.</p><p>The fine linens were cold to the touch when Daenerys slipped between them and her first instinct was to pull the luxurious satin bedspread to her chin, shivering slightly… but then, sighing, she lowered it slowly, to actually feel the cold air caress her and make her breasts perk up, all the while calling silently to her phantom lover, her eyes gazing out the window. Stars were shining in the firmament, between the sporadic volutes let out by the steam engine.</p><p>He’d come, wouldn’t he?</p><p>Sighing, Daenerys closed her eyes and smiled, appreciating the hypnotic and repetitive song of the train, chugging along, the smooth iron of its wheels propelling them forward. And the swaying, the gentle, sensuous…</p><p>“Khaleesi…” she heard Jorah whisper in her ear, “when you sway your hips this way…” the rest of his sentence turning into a sensuous growl cascading down the slope of her neck.</p><p>“Yes, my darling?” she prompted him, arching her back inside his embrace, to keep his hovering body close to her. “When I sway my hips, <em>like this</em>, as you take me… what?”</p><p>Her breath shook feeling Jorah thrusting deep.</p><p>“There is a beast in every man, my darling, and…”</p><p>Oh Gods, how this man knew how to make love to her! He was one with the train’s motion, amorous and powerful, and unabashedly ferocious, his lips and gruff feasting on the candy of her bosom as his arms held her tight, over his bent knees, for him to better rock her, unrelentingly!</p><p><em>Ughhhh</em>… Daenerys had to moan upon climaxing, her eyelids fluttering open.</p><p>How much time had elapsed, since having come to bed, she could not tell. Had she fallen asleep?… But she was surprised at finding herself alone, with her hand between her thighs, the warm wetness there a testament to her fantasy.</p><p>
  <em>Oh Jorah…</em>
</p><p>Once more, Daenerys lifted her eyes to the night sky and then, hearing a sigh, she turned quickly, only to see that her bed was still empty. As empty as it had been that morning. Suddenly sad, her hand went to caress the pillow next to hers, smooth and cold and without Jorah. She closed her eyes, willing no tears to well there, and when she opened them again, <em>she made</em> her Captain appear. His shimmering shell, that is, translucid and honey-coloured, its vibrations almost musical. How beautiful her copper-haired lover, asleep and abandoned to her care. Daenerys smiled, not noticing that tears had come regardless of her command, and she let her hand peruse the beauty of the man she loved, from his gently heaving pectorals, down his furry abdomen to his sex, so proud, even in slumber. How perfect her Knight and Captain! And then, looking at his peaceful visage, Daenerys shifted her body and slipped inside the golden aura of Jorah’s light, to sleep ensconced in the dream of him.</p><p>It did not matter if its fire came from her imagination. It did not matter. <em>It did not</em>… the Lady of Keep cottage told herself, as she cried through the rest of the night.</p><p> </p><p>***</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys stood on the prow of the ferry taking her back to Whitecliff, her heart constricted: Bear Island was shrouded in fog. Why? Why did this feel like the continuation of a forlorn dream, a nightmare begun surreptitiously that very morning? Jorah had always seen to it that… that the weather welcomed her. And when she saw Gilly and Samwell waiting for her, on the quay, almost lost behind a white shroud, she had such a hard time keeping her tears to herself. She hugged Gilly, longer than was necessary, taking care not to crush her swollen belly.</p><p>“Gilly, what…?”</p><p>“I know,” her friend murmured, feeling, like her friend, that something was off. “Bear Island has been in mourning, Daenerys; it really feels like it! But you’re here now, and all will be as it should be!”</p><p>Except, it wasn’t. The weather did not change because Daenerys had set foot once more on the island. Samwell had to drive very carefully to the Keep, making sure his motor car follow the path of Lighthouse Road, and not veer off the ledge of the chalk cliffs. When they got to the house, Daenerys experienced a kind of déjà-vu. She got out of the car and walked alongside the green hedges, trying to peek at the grandiose Queen Ann structure of the house, and having to spar with the greenery. When she got to the arbour gate, she found it stuck, just like the first time. She turned to Samwell, who rushed to her.</p><p>“Sam? I… I can’t seem to…”</p><p>“Please let me!” he told her, working on the gate.</p><p>And when they entered the grounds, Gilly and Daenerys just stopped in their tracks, dumbstruck. The House. The Keep. It was as they had found it, more than a year ago. Beautiful, for sure, like a grand dame past her prime, but in such a state of disrepair. They felt their breath leave them. Especially Daenerys. She took a few steps forward, walking up towards the veranda. The fog was making everything quiet. She couldn’t even hear the waves breaking on the beach. Her eyes fell on the Little Siren fountain. The sculpture’s arm was missing. Yes, Daario had broken it, Daenerys remembered, feeling guilty. But then, she saw the rose bushes, shrivelling. They were a dark red, like dried, caked blood. When had they turned this colour? Where were her violet roses? She touched the petals and they turned to dust.</p><p>
  <em>Jorah! Oh Gods, where are you, my love?</em>
</p><p>Daenerys could not move, looking at the Keep, her eyes fixed on the second floor’s bow window. She felt Gilly’s presence then, her shoulder brushing her own. Daenerys turned to her friend.</p><p>“Gilly? I… I don’t understand…”</p><p>“It must be the storm, Your Grace,” Gilly answered, the feeling of doom making her revert back to her formal address to Daenerys.</p><p>Yes, the storm had somehow brought back the Keep to the state it had been in when they first laid eyes on it. Daenerys tried to believe it.</p><p>“Gilly?” she whispered, grabbing her friend’s hand and swallowing her tears.</p><p>“Everything will be fine, my dear,” answered Gilly. And then she turned to Samwell, telling him in hushed words to let them be. Somehow, she knew Daenerys would need some privacy to… to make everything right again. And so, Samwell left them, though not without fretting over his wife, and then relinquishing, after a kiss and loving stare.</p><p>Bravely, both Daenerys and Gilly walked to the veranda. It was so eerie, walking into the house. Like they didn’t recognise it, or it didn’t recognise them. Everything was still. It seemed like the fog had seeped in.</p><p>“I’ll… I’ll check on the kitchen,” whispered Gilly, to somehow get a handle on her fears and feel useful.</p><p>“Yes, of course,” answered Daenerys, lifting her eyes up the grand staircase.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When she stepped into her bedroom, the first thing she saw was the fog blurring everything past the bow window. It shrouded the room, it entombed it! Inside, it was as if time had stopped. It was as she had left it, before her trip to Glasgow except for…</p><p>Daenerys heard herself gasp.</p><p>Jorah’s portrait was no longer hanging over her mantlepiece. And in front of the fireplace, there was only one armchair.</p><p>This was not happening! No. No, no, no. <em>Where was he?</em></p><p>“Jorah?” she murmured. “Captain?” she cried out!</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Down in the kitchen, Gilly was discouraged. The rainstorm had pushed the windows opened, water had filtered in… and the wind, the wind surely was to blame for the ramshackle view. Broken plates, utensils and linens on the floor! <em>Oh my…</em></p><p>Having walked to the windows to close them, Gilly saw the potted herbs, some broken on the counter, and all of them were dried up. Dead. And then, looking around, she saw the copper pots hanging. Dusty and tarnished, the way they had been when they first got to the Keep. <em>What in the name of…?</em> But, ever so resilient, Gilly just sighed and groaned.</p><p>“Captain,” she huffed to the air, “I can’t say I like you very much just now!” And, quieting the wee bundle in that proud belly of hers, Gilly tackled the work at hand.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Daenerys was trying to understand. She was replaying her last evening with Jorah, and their night, their <em>beautiful </em>night of lovemaking… What had she done wrong? It made no sense. And, where was he? He had not come to her on the night train. And he was not here. Her thoughts were going round and round and round, as she was going from room to room, despairing at every turn to find the house… abandoned. Her beautiful Keep!</p><p>She ran down to the parlour. Had Jorah put back his portrait in its original place, above the fireplace? No. No he had not. Daario’s portrait of her was still hanging there, the view irritating <em>her</em>. She’d have to take it down—but then, something stopped her from leaving the room. The light coming from the front windows was shining on the painting. The sun had come out for it, it seemed. It made the brushstrokes and the yellow hues of the oil paint shine. Regardless of his faults, Daario was indeed a decent artist and his cubist homage to her was striking. Daenerys walked to the painting; something about it was suddenly calling her to it. It was as if the house was concentrating its last breath, the remnant of its faery power on it. To make it shine. And nearing it, laying her hand gently to the mantlepiece to look up at it, Daenerys saw that its resting place was the only spot in the room—the only spot in the house—not dusty.</p><p>Why had Jorah staged it this way?</p><p>And then, something he said… making her swear she’d go back to Glasgow to choose life. Which she did, swear to him. Oh Gods! But didn’t he understand it was to break off with Daario and choose life with him? Him, Jorah. Here, at the Keep? Their work, the magic of their days and nights, <em>that</em> was what she wanted. It’s what she meant by ‘choosing Life’! And instead, this. This shrine he left behind, to Daario’s vision of her…</p><p>
  <em>Oh, this would never do!</em>
</p><p>Leaving the parlour, Daenerys’ steps brought her to the back quarters where she could hear Gilly making a racket. When she got to stand in the doorway, Gilly saw her and—</p><p>“No. You do not come in here, Daenerys Targaryen. Blast it all, look at the state of <em>me</em> kitchen!”</p><p>“I… I don’t know what to say, Gilly.”</p><p>Picking up a heavy pot, Gilly, red in the face, just spurted it out: “I don’t know what you must do to make things right again with <em>your Captain</em>—no, not a word from you!—but there’s a diving plank and sharks waiting for him if you don’t settle your lovers’ spat with him NOW!”</p><p>But instead of waking the dragon in her Mistress, Gilly’s words just overwhelmed Daenerys and she just stood there, lifting her arms, and then bursting into tears.</p><p>“Oh!” Gilly exclaimed, regretting her outburst, and walking to her friend to take her in her arms. “There, there, I’m sorry sweetheart, if he did this then he ain’t worth it. Blast his hide. He ain’t worth it.”</p><p>Daenerys was stunned. In other circumstances, she would have laughed but, right now, she didn’t have the strength to deal with Gilly dipping her toe in the Fantastic.</p><p>“You know you’re talking nonsense, right?” Daenerys whimpered.</p><p>Gilly looked at her deadpan.</p><p>“Of course, I’m talking nonsense!” <em>Ghosts did not exist.</em> She sighed and then… “But we have got to be brave, and clean all this mess, missy!”</p><p>“Yes, but don’t overdo it, Gil—”</p><p>“Now!”</p><p>Backing away, Daenerys left her friend to her chores and walked back up slowly towards her room, wondering… Yes, of course, Gilly was right. They needed to ‘clean this mess.’ <em>She </em>needed to! Jorah’s portrait disappearing, the state which the Keep was in, Daario’s painting throning in the parlour: this all felt like an admission of defeat, and it just confused her. It broke her heart.</p><p>Not really seeing where her feet were taking her, Daenerys found herself on the third floor, in the section of her home she rarely went to. For some reason. The Keep was like her mind and her imagination, full of fancy and convoluted whims. When she looked about her, she recognised the rounded corner with floor to ceiling bookcases, the ones she had discovered one moonless day… the one—she was recalling, suddenly!—the one leading to Jorah’s secret attic! How could she have forgotten about it?</p><p>Seized with a sudden intuition, Daenerys pushed on one of the bookcases. It opened with a click and, pulling on it, she went up the dark staircase it revealed, a sense of déjà-vu permeating her mind… only to find herself in front of the locked door she remembered from months ago. She tried to rattle it, but to no avail; it refused to open. Knowing she had once found a key for it, she ran down the narrow stairs again. But she stopped suddenly and, lifting her dress, she ripped the fabric to her petticoats to tie a little piece of it at the foot of the elusive bookcase. And she did it again when she veered each corridor and staircase leading her back to the main section of the house. Oh! she would not be led astray anymore!</p><p>Running down to the first floor and into the office, Daenerys rummaged through the drawers yet failed to see the keyring she had once found there.</p><p>
  <em>“Your Grace?”</em>
</p><p>Daenerys yelped when Gilly appeared in the door frame, looking calmer but perspiring from her hard work.</p><p>“Come to think of it, never mind the rest of the house. I could really use some help in the kitchen.”</p><p>“Oh! Gilly, I know, and I’ll be there shortly! I just need, I need…” And, her eyes falling on a long screwdriver, she grabbed it: “This! This’ll do!”</p><p>She had to squeeze past Gilly, to run back up the stairs, not stopping to answer her friend’s query of “whatever for?” In fact, she yelled back her answer: “To unlock the secret attic!”</p><p>Wobbling to the foot of the grand staircase, Gilly yelled back, not even ironic anymore: “Don’t you mean ‘the portal’?”</p><p>“Yes!” she heard Daenerys answer from afar.</p><p>Gilly just rolled her eyes and nodded.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When Daenerys finally broke into the secret room, after much effort and a loud crack, a smile of relief illuminated her features: Jorah’s portrait was there! She had found him! The painting was hanging over the small fireplace. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she walked to it; to the beautifully rugged rendition of the man she loved. And then, resting her hands on the mantlepiece, her face lifting up to those Skye blue eyes, Daenerys’ smile vanished and she found herself teary-eyed. <em>Why? Why had he done this?</em></p><p>“Jorah?… Come back to me.”</p><p>Daenerys waited a few seconds, but her Love did not appear, and she was left in silence. Turning her face from the portrait, her glance perused the room. Nothing had changed since her visit and her eyes fell on the writing desk where the key she had forgotten still laid. And there was the black ebony chest she had noticed too. She remembered wanting to open it, and then Samwell’s visit had interrupted her. Walking towards it now, sitting down in Jorah’s chair, Daenerys saw her hand tremble slightly as she opened the mysterious box.</p><p>Inside, she found… letters. Each one addressed to… Lynesse! All of them ready to be sent, though they never were and, the last one, Daenerys discovered, had not been sealed. <em>Oh, Jorah…</em></p><p>Daenerys smoothed the envelope, delicately. Then, she looked around the room again, her glance caressing her Captain’s secret library. All these poetry books, these books which spoke of love. Underneath his gruff exterior, and his scowls, what a Romantic he truly was. To a fault!</p><p>He had suffered so… and she thought, she thought she had brought him happiness. But here she was, having failed. Jorah had retreated in this secret attic, amidst painful memories, and she didn’t know what to do… except read the letter in her hand.</p><p>Her own heart breaking, she was only vaguely aware that her gesture was sacrilegious.</p><p><em>My love, my beautiful love… </em>she read.</p><p>Daenerys breathed in sharply, these opening words running a dagger through her heart. As much for Jorah as for herself. It hurt to think of his cherished voice addressing someone else than she in those terms, but it hurt even more knowing Lynesse had spurned him, and humiliated him. She had hurt the man she adored.</p><p>She read on… and the more she read, the more Daenerys found Jorah had told her the truth about having misconstrued his fiancée. He wasn’t describing her, she didn’t think, he was addressing the ideal of her. The ideal woman he had gifted the Keep to. And so, it felt, reading the letter, that she was reading a missive addressed to her. And in the present circumstances she found herself in, how terribly, terribly fitting it seemed to her to be reading of Jorah’s heartache. She had hurt him without wanting to. He felt unworthy of her. He felt he should bow down to this <em>other man,</em> more apt than him to bring her happiness.</p><p>More than once, Daenerys had to interrupt her reading, because it hurt too much knowing the depth of her Captain’s suffering. And then… and then her eyes fell on the last lines.</p><p><em>I cannot live without you. There is no light in the absence of you. No tomorrow worth fighting for. No heartbeat worth clinging to. I am leaving you to <span class="u">him</span>, to this life which, of course, my darling, you deserve. I shan’t mail this shameful confession. I hope you never find it. </em> <em>I will go to sleep now, not in the bed I carved for us, no, but I will put myself to sleep and you will be free. There is a gale blowing from the south-southwest tonight. I will close the windows; shut them as any sensible man should. They’ve installed a gas heater in our bedroom, do you know? A modern atrocity, I’m afraid. </em></p><p>
  <em>In the morning, my love, you will be free. And so will I.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>The Gods curse me; I deserve no better.</em>
</p><p>No! Daenerys doubled over in her seat, clasping her hand to her mouth, and remembering Jorah had spoken these words to her the night they first met: the gale, the closing of the window, the gas heater. But to refute his suicide! And yet…</p><p>
  <em>No! </em>
</p><p><em>Oh Gods, Jorah had indeed taken his life!</em> <em>Out of love….</em></p><p>And now, he had done it again. He had left her. Out of desperation. <em>No, no, no!</em></p><p>And just as she was about to shout Jorah’s name and plead for him to come back to her, Daenerys heard a loud crash coming from downstairs.</p><p>She got to her feet, dread gripping her heart.</p><p>“Gilly?!” she called out. “GILLY?”</p><p>And, not hearing more, Daenerys flew down the stairs, all the way down to the kitchen.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>Gilly was holding on to the counter, the cauldron she had been scrubbing wobbling on the floor near her.</p><p>“Gilly!”</p><p>Daenerys was paralysed, in the doorframe of the kitchen, but when she saw Gilly look at her, her face wincing suddenly in pain, she ran to her… Just in time to catch her friend as her knees were bucking from under her.</p><p>“Daenerys?” Gilly whispered, looking into Daenerys’ eyes. “Ohhhhhh….”</p><p>Grabbing Gilly, and keeling over from the weight, Daenerys fell to the kitchen floor with her friend in her arms.</p><p>“It’s ok, it’s ok… I’m here, Gilly! Just breathe, you’re fine, we’re fine, you—”</p><p>“Daenerys—” Gilly meant to say something but the contraction seizing her body sent such a strong bolt of… of <em>something</em> she didn’t feel like calling pain, because it was something else, it was something she could not imagine existed and would lead to something wondrous, but it seized her body, and she found herself unable to utter a word, unable to utter a single sound! Her eyes closed to ride the wave washing over her. And, instead of words, she simply grabbed Daenerys’ hand… and crushed it.</p><p>“Darling?” Daenerys murmured in Gilly’s ear, her hand holding hers, and going to her swollen belly, “let me use the telephone, and I’ll call Samwell, yes?”</p><p>“Mmmmmmmm no! Ohhhhhh, she’s coming too quickly Daenerys, she’s ohhhhhh!” Gilly winced and, sure enough, just as the words were dying on her lips, her water broke, and a wave of liquid rushed from her.</p><p>“Blast it! My kitchen floor!” she complained, true to herself.</p><p>“Gilly! Priorities, please?” Daenerys exclaimed, trying to wiggle herself from under her friend, while also supporting her. She had her shoulder and head inside her arm and she was now kneeling over her. “Gilly? Listen to me darling, I really must call the doctor. And Samwell! Don’t you want him with you?”</p><p>“Daenerys!” Gilly grabbed her hand again and crushed it once more, her face grimacing through another strong contraction: “Listen to me, there’s no time, I’ve delivered enough babies, I know. And what would Samwell do? Swear to never touch me again? No! Listen to me. Daenerys, look at me! You need to boil some water and, and… ohhhhhh!”</p><p>“Gilly?!”</p><p>“OK, never mind the water…. Ohhhhhhh…”</p><p>This was not happening. This was all going too fast. Daenerys was tearing up again, cursing her lack of knowledge, her never living in the moment, in real life, and… and knowing about real things, down-to-earth things, things that could save lives, her best friend’s life and her baby’s! Desperate, what else could she do but throw caution to the wind? Not even sure it was the right thing to do, Daenerys just called on the one person she knew could work miracles.</p><p>
  <em>Jorahhhhh!</em>
</p><p>“Jorah, please!!!!!”</p><p>“What?!” whimpered Gilly, through clenched teeth as another wave was hitting her, this time a loud moan escaping her lips. Daenerys, truly desperate now, simply screamed louder.</p><p>“My love, please! PLEASE!”</p><p>And in the next instant…</p><p>
  <em>He was there! </em>
</p><p>Jorah was simply there, kneeling on the other side of Gilly, and glowing; his expression so intense, upset, and full of concern. They both looked at Gilly then, scrunching in pain, lost to the world and…</p><p>“Take my hand,” the Captain commanded, and Daenerys did, intertwining her hand in his, once more making her red shimmer mingle with his blue. He lowered their fingers to Gilly, cradling her contracting belly, and their touch instantly relieving her of some of the pain. She moaned, her head lolling in the crook of Daenerys’ shoulder.</p><p>“Jorah?” Daenerys whimpered, looking up to him.</p><p>“We’ve got this, Khaleesi.”</p><p>And they did. In one instant, the trio found itself in Gilly’s old bedroom, with the mother-to-be sitting up, her back to a wall of pillows cushioning her, huffing and puffing herself through another crest. They had everything at hand to help her through the delivery. Daenerys was refreshing her brow with a compress, and helping her forward, her arm meeting Jorah’s behind Gilly’s body. Still…</p><p>“I need to call the doctor, I really do!” Daenerys whispered, her eyes going from Jorah to Gilly.</p><p>Gilly, barely conscious of her surroundings, just whimpered her acquiescence and then, Daenerys looked to Jorah, detangling her hand from his.</p><p>“Now, <em>you</em> have her, Jorah! You do!”</p><p>Seized with fear, Jorah just exhaled, his eyes going from Daenerys’ face to her hand letting go of his in a reddish glimmer, and then to his arm which she lowered onto Gilly’s back. He opened his mouth to protest but then his breath just left him in a shaky exhale as he felt Gilly recline on his chest with a sigh of relief.</p><p>His touch was no longer lethal! Not to Daenerys, not to Gilly… not to anyone? Daenerys just knew it wouldn’t be anymore and she beamed at her Love, before lowering her face to Gilly.</p><p>“Darling, you’re doing great, breathe, and wait for me—”</p><p>“Go!” Jorah whispered, teary-eyed and nodding to Daenerys.</p><p> </p><p>*</p><p> </p><p>When little Anna was born into this world, cooing to her mother and father under the watchful gaze of Whitecliff’s good doctor, Daenerys was able to breathe again. She stood by the window with Jorah, her glance going from him, the miracle of him next to her, with sunbeams dancing through his features and sparkling through his Skye blue eyes, to the equally miraculous tableau before them and, overwhelmed with emotion, her whole body quivered. Sensing it, Jorah enfolded his Love in his arms and Daenerys lifted her eyes to his once more, tears blurring what she saw of his face. Yet she sensed his own expression falter. He crushed her to him, and then he bent down to whisper in her ear.</p><p>“Khaleesi, you did good. Go to her…”</p><p>Looking up sharply at Jorah, Daenerys opened her mouth, a fearful plea ready to spill from her lips, but he quieted her with another whisper.</p><p>“I won’t disappear. I’ll be waiting!”</p><p>And so, Daenerys took a few steps forward, just in time to see Gilly and Samwell raise their eyes to her, to have her meet… her godchild.</p><p>Fresh tears fluttered through Daenerys’ eyes and Gilly had to hold her, and the baby, to her bosom, making both of them laugh. Samwell smiled but then murmured that he’d see the doctor out.</p><p>“I’ll bring you back something to eat, my sweet.” Words of love, of course, in Samwell’s mouth. Gilly watched him go with a smile and then slipped little Anna in Daenerys’ arms who oohed with glee.</p><p>“Hey…” she whispered to the baby, “Hi!… Hi there, Missy…. Oh! you were so very eager to meet us; yes, you were…”</p><p>Seeing her friend talking googoo to her daughter, Gilly chuckled with tenderness before looking at her with melancholy. She remembered Daenerys’ miscarriage and wondered if Anna’s birth brought back painful memories… but it seemed not. Yet, she thought it best not to conjure up the past. Rather, she spoke of the future.</p><p>“Daenerys?”</p><p>“Yes…” Daenerys answered her, still cooing over baby Anna.</p><p>“I told Samwell… there should be… only one godparent and—”</p><p>“Oh, but Gilly,” Daenerys was quick to interrupt, “I don’t mind you asking one of your relatives, or Samwell’s, to be godfather. Anna should have two guarding angels because… oh yes!” she whispered again to the baby, “You’ll be such a rambunctious little terror, won’t you? Yes, and I’ll need all the help—”</p><p>“Daenerys, that’s what I told Sam but not what I’m telling you,” Gilly whispered back, touching Daenerys arm. “Anna <em>will </em>have a godfather… if you ask him,” she added, weighing her words.</p><p>At that, Daenerys raised her eyes sharply at Gilly and then looked down again, unable to find a way to deflect what she thought she was grasping.</p><p>“I… I didn’t <em>see</em> him exactly,” Gilly murmured, trying to get Daenerys to look at her. And when their eyes met again, she explained in tender words: “But I <em>sensed</em> him, Daenerys. I sensed both of your touch—”</p><p>“Gilly, hush…” Daenerys was getting emotional again, and tears were pearling once more on her lashes.</p><p>“I sensed him, and I <em>heard </em>him,” Gilly forged on. “When you left to telephone Samwell, I heard him, Daenerys, do you understand what I am telling you?… His words of comfort, his voice like the warmest of velvet…”</p><p>“Yes?…” Daenerys breathed out.</p><p>“And he brought us here, and he gave you his strength, did he not, for you to deliver Anna? That was not the doctor’s doing. I heard him then too, telling me all would be fine. Telling me, <em>you’d</em> be my strength. Oh, my darling, how could you not be madly in love with him?”</p><p>“Oh Gilly!” A sob escaped Daenerys… because she understood then, truly, that she had not imagined Jorah, all these months and today! There had always been that possibility. But she had not dreamed him! She was not mad like her father had been. And… her best friend was giving her leave to believe in him! She was blessing them!</p><p>“Oh Gilly…” Daenerys repeated again, hugging her friend before slipping little Anna back into her mother’s arms.</p><p>“You will ask him then?” Gilly whispered shyly.</p><p>“Yes!” Daenerys nodded, wiping her tears and smiling.</p><p>“Of course, Samwell need not know,” added Gilly seriously. Which made Daenerys laugh through her tears, and little Anna coo, making both women start in wonder and then nuzzle.</p><p>“Agreed,” whispered Daenerys, kissing her friend’s forehead.</p><p>“What is this, then?” Samwell asked joyfully as he stepped back into the bedroom with a banquet of goodies on a tray. “A female covenant to overrule me, I fear.”</p><p>“Oh! indeed, Samwell Tarly, beware the ladies of the Keep!” quipped his wife, smiling, as he neared the bed once more and laid his tray on the covers.</p><p>“Well, my dear, if truth be told, I’m all for female rule in this house. Clearly it has softened its permanent resident. The Keep is in tip-top shape, I must say. The kitchen is spotless!”</p><p>“It is?” frowned Gilly looking at Daenerys who shrugged, befuddled.</p><p>“Oh yes, and I have not had a mishap befall me in the house… in ages!” he seemed to realise, just now.</p><p>“Except for Anna’s dramatic entrance into the world,” corrected Daenerys sheepishly.</p><p>To which, Gilly was quick to counter-argument: “Oh please, the little lady had begun giving signs of impatience… which I did not heed—”</p><p>“Because you too were eager to meet her, my darling,” concluded Sam.</p><p>“Yes,” Gilly smiled into his eyes, accepting some food from him.</p><p>“Look baby girl,” Sam then whispered to his daughter, “a crumpet! Mmmm-mmm yes, you’ll come to love those. With whipped cream. Look!”</p><p>And both Gilly and Daenerys protested, laughing, seeing Sam touch Anna’s nose with a pearl of white topping.</p><p>Daenerys soon left the new parents to their bliss and made sure the closest guest bedroom would accommodate Sam comfortably. Doing so, Daenerys saw Jorah had indeed brought back The Keep to its grand stature. She saw it anew, like never before, proud of all its nooks and crannies, and remembering all its hidden beauties. It felt like it could be truly hers now. Completely. Or rather, <em>theirs</em>. And that made her spirits rise and hope. And yet, when she came to the closed door of her bedroom—she hesitated, her hand grasping the brass knob.</p><p><em>Please, please be there when I open the door!</em> <em>No more maybes, no more doubts, no more sparring. Just you and I. Come what may…</em></p><p> </p><p>
  
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